


Desperate Measures

by Finduilas88



Series: Desperate Times [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fix-It, Lots of other characters as story progresses, M/M, mentions of past rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 03:11:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1412875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finduilas88/pseuds/Finduilas88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kili, Prince of Erebor, is desperate. Desperate to save his brother, his One, from the madness of their uncle, King Thorin. What must they do; how far must Fili and Kili go to find their dream of peace and happiness?</p><p>This is a fix-it for ThornyHedge's "Gold Lust".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Glimmer of Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Gold Lust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101546) by [ThornyHedge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThornyHedge/pseuds/ThornyHedge). 



> Please note that this is a fix-it for ThornyHedge's "Gold Lust", so I very strongly recommend that you read that story first if you have not already! I am not explicit in this story about Thorin's abuse of Fili, so you may have trouble following it without reading the original work.
> 
> Some background on this work: "Gold Lust" is a wonderful, heartbreaking story, but it was just too painful for me to think of Fili and Kili left in such a dire situation. So...with ThornyHedge's blessing, I came up with a happ(ier) ending for our sweet boys. As is often way of things, Thorny's trim 1000 word story has exploded into a much, much longer tale. (And I will admit getting {slightly} carried away, exploring new places in ME with the lads was a lot of fun.) But I keep telling myself that it makes sense that it would take more work (and a lot more words, evidently) to get them OUT of trouble than it did to get them in it.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it!

* * *

Dwalin watched with consternation as Kíli paced frenetically from one side of his office to the other, face fixed in a scowl. He exchanged a worried look with Balin before addressing the young dwarf.

“Settle down, Kíli! I’m afraid you’ll upset your brother if he sees you like this,” the bald dwarf grumbled.

Dark eyes met his, “I know that!” Kíli snapped. “Why do you think I’m here and not with Fíli and Óin?” His voice softened, “Ori is keeping him company while Óin treats his wounds. Fíli enjoys his company and his presence is soothing in a way that mine would not be right now.”

"Perhaps you should take a page from your brother’s book, then, Kíli,” Balin observed with a touch of asperity. “He seems calm enough; more so than I would expect given what he has experienced…again,” he added with weary sigh.

The young prince had always been respectful of the elderly dwarf, but now he rounded on him with a snarl, “Don’t you _dare_ try to tell me how Thorin’s ‘demonstrations’ affect my brother! He can disguise his feelings in public because he must, but you do not hear him awaken crying in the night, or see how he flinches from my touch for days afterward.”

Dwalin sighed and closed his eyes, the sick feeling in his belly that had started to abate when they had left Thorin’s presence suddenly back with a vengeance. He had been relieved when Kíli had stopped struggling to intervene on his brother’s behalf, but now seeing the deep well of rage and pain in the young dwarf’s eyes, he understood. Kíli had not reconciled himself to Thorin’s abuse of his brother, and _would_ never while he still drew breath.

“He speaks little, barely eats and seldom sleeps,” Kíli continued, his voice rough. “Fíli sits in council as he is required, but rarely says a word, and only trains when forced to.” He met Balin’s eyes, “If you cannot see that Thorin is crushing his spirit—my sweet Fíli, my beloved _nadad,_ ” he added, his voice cracking, “it is because you do not _wish_ to.”

He turned to Dwalin, “You keep telling me that Thorin has the right to do this. It is also right for a mad king to utterly destroy the heir he supposedly cherishes? I am telling you now that Thorin is killing him as surely as if he were to put a blade through his heart. If this goes on I fear that Fíli will eventually die of grief or decide to take his own life. And if by some miracle he survives, there will only be a broken shell left to inherit the throne when we are finally _blessed_ by Thorin’s passing.”

“Kíli,” Dwalin cried in surprise, “Do not say such things!”

The young prince straightened and glared at the older dwarves, “You may be content to stand by and watch that happen, but I am not. If Fíli’s torment does not end, _I_ will end it, even if that means putting Thorin down like the beast he has become.”

“Kíli,” Balin hissed, “you speak treason!”

Kíli chuckled, altogether mirthlessly. “How can you possibly believe that I care about that when my _King_ ,” he spat contemptuously, “is destroying by inches the one I love best in the world.” He closed his eyes for a moment, when he opened them again he was calm, at least outwardly. The brunet bowed slightly, “Excuse me, my lords, my brother requires my care.” With that, he disappeared out the door.

Dwalin slumped wearily against the desk and silence fell between the brothers. Finally Balin sighed deeply, “He’s not wrong, brother, we cannot go on like this.” He shook his head, “We’re going to lose both of them if Kíli tries something rash and gets caught in the attempt. And by the Maker, I can’t say that I’d blame him if he did try to kill Thorin.”

The bald dwarf met Balin’s gaze, tears in his eyes, “Mahal’s hammer, brother, I thought it would stop. That Thorin would tire of using Fíli in this way, or that he would recover from the gold sickness. I thought it would _stop_ ,” he repeated, his voice breaking.

Balin clasped his arm in sympathy, “I know, brother, I know.”

-ooo-

Spring was just shaking off the last vestiges of winter chill when the two princes and their escort rode into Dale. Kíli had been to visit and assist with the reconstruction several times since Erebor was reclaimed, but this was the first time the Crown Prince had been allowed to accompany him. The King was extremely reluctant to let Fíli leave the Mountain and finally it required Óin’s insistence that it was needed for health reasons. In light of the older prince’s increasing frequent illnesses, Thorin was at last persuaded to let him go.

The new King of Dale, Bard the Bowman, knew nothing of this, of course, but he was surprised and pleased when the arrival of both princes was announced. He and his children met them in the courtyard of their residence as the dwarves dismounted. Bard greeted them, beaming, “Welcome to Dale, my lords! It is splendid to see you again, Prince Fíli. Of course, your company is always a pleasure as well, Prince Kíli,” he added with a wink. The dark-haired prince grinned broadly in return. “How long has it been, Prince Fíli, since you last visited Dale?”

“Thank you, your highness, for your gracious welcome,” Fíli said quietly, offering his hand. “It’s been over a year, I’d say. I wish I could have come more often, but my duties keep me close to the Mountain.”

“Just Bard, please,” the dark-haired man admonished. “You’ll have luncheon with us, of course…” he prompted with a smile.

“Of course, Bard, we would be honored,” Fíli replied, smiling warmly in return.

Bard glanced over to where his children were waiting impatiently; they had become friends with the princes when the brothers were stranded in Laketown due to Kíli’s injury. He grinned at the blond prince, “I believe there are some others here who wish to greet you.” With that, his children surged forward, Tilda hanging on Fíli’s arm in delight.

The King of Dale turned to Kíli, a smile on his face but his heart shadowed. In truth, he was shocked by Fíli’s appearance and demeanor. The blond dwarf was dressed as befitted a Prince of Erebor, and his golden hair braided neatly as always, but otherwise he was anything but the strong, hearty dwarf Bard recalled from previous meetings. Fíli was noticeably thinner and paler than before, with deep circles under his eyes. And although Fíli had always been more restrained than his boisterous brother, they had shared a lively spark and sense of mischief that made them easy to like. Now that spark was absent and it troubled the man greatly that it was so.

Amidst these ruminations he smiled and grasped Kíli’s hand in greeting. “Kíli, my friend, it is good to see you again. Thank you for coming and bringing your brother. The children have often asked about him.”

Kíli returned the smile, but it did not escape Bard’s attention how frequently his eyes found their way to his brother, chatting nearby with the children. “It took some persuading to convince the King to let him come,” the younger prince replied tightly, “he likes to keep his heir close to hand.”

The hard edge in the dark-haired dwarf’s voice was unmistakable, so Bard decided that this was a situation where concern for a friend should outweigh the fear of offending an ally. After glancing over to confirm that the Crown Prince was still absorbed in his conversation, Bard murmured, “My friend, I pray I do not offend, but your brother does not seem at all well.”

Kíli looked away, focusing on nothing, “You are correct, he is not well. The King is extremely… _demanding_ of his heir.” The young prince met his eyes and Bard returned the gaze, speechless in surprise, both for such an admission from a member of the notoriously secretive race, and even more so for the fury he saw in Kíli’s eyes. When he glanced back at his older brother Bard read pain in his face, and fear; fear for his brother. Whatever had damaged the blond prince had burdened the formerly irrepressible, ever-smiling Kíli as well.

Bard thought feverishly; obviously _something_ was very wrong in the Kingdom of Erebor, seemingly with the King himself, but what could it be? Bard had always felt wary respect for Thorin Oakenshield, there was no question he was a strong king and a valuable ally. But the Dalesman had never found him to be at all warm or likeable, in sharp contrast to his friendly and personable nephews.

Then he recalled something that chilled his heart and made him gasp softly in dismay. _The rumors._ There had been rumors—whispers—of practices among the dwarves of Erebor that made his mind shy away in disgust. King and kinsmen were mentioned, he recalled, and but no other details were forthcoming. Not that he had pressed for specifics; on the contrary he had dismissed the tales as slanderous and salacious. After all, the Valar knew what ridiculous stories were told about the sexual practices of elves!

Now Bard’s gut clenched, wondering if the rumors might possibly be true, in whole or in part. He glanced up at Kíli who was watching his brother with a sad smile on his face. Following the younger prince’s gaze, he saw Fíli raise a hand to gesture, his sleeve falling away to reveal both his wrist and a faint red ring of scaring such as the man had seen on prisoners who had been manacled. He closed his eyes briefly and let out a puff of breath in dismay. When he opened his eyes again, Bard’s jaw tightened; he _must_ offer assistance, but how? It would take a far more skilled tongue than his to hint without giving offense that the King of Erebor was hideously abusing his nephew and heir.

Finally, the King of Dale determined that a circumspect approach was in order. He cleared his throat. “Kíli, my friend, have you and your brother ever considered…travel? I’m sure your kingdom could benefit from improving relationships with other realms; Rivendell, for instance, or even Gondor.” Bard held his breath, unsure how the young prince would respond.

Kíli’s head whipped around and he stared at Bard, open-mouthed. Eventually he found his tongue, “I… _we_ would welcome the opportunity to visit other realms. But although I think Thorin could be persuaded to send me, I’m afraid he will never agree to let Fíli go further than Dale.”

The Dalesman did not think he was imagining the dawning hope in the eyes of the dwarf prince. He clasped Kíli’s arm and replied, “Regardless, please keep in mind that should you or your brother ever need travel…assistance, you have friends in Dale.”

The young prince’s bowed his head briefly and glanced over to his brother, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Shortly afterward Bard declared to those assembled that it was time to go in for luncheon. He turned away to lead them inside, but smiled to himself when he saw the dwarf brothers bump shoulders and exchange a look of deep affection as they entered the house.

Only topics of general interest were discussed while they ate, and afterward the princes left to conduct the business they had planned for the day. When they returned late in the afternoon to retrieve their mounts, they also made their farewells to the King and his family.

“Did your business go as you hoped?” Bard asked Kíli politely.

“Oh, aye,” Kíli grinned, “very well.” He gave Bard an intent look, “We stopped by to see Bofur’s new toy shop in the market square.”

“Did you?” Bard chuckled. “It’s become quite the landmark already; the first dwarven toyshop in Dale since the Mountain was reclaimed.”

The dark-haired dwarf glanced down at his feet for a moment, then met the King’s eyes, “I’m pleased that there is such a link between the Mountain and Dale. Bofur is an honorable and trustworthy dwarf.”

Bard blinked in surprise, then nodded at the prince, “Aye, I agree.”

He waved farewell to the dwarves, his mind churning. Kíli’s message had been received; _Bofur could be trusted_.

-ooo-

Kíli scanned the street anxiously before turning to the door of Bofur’s toyshop, the late afternoon sun setting the display in the window aglow. He knocked briskly, twice, rattling the ‘closed’ sign, and before it could still the door opened and Bofur peered out.

Instead of his usual broad smile, the older dwarf had an odd expression on his face, equal parts wonder and trepidation. Bofur nodded to the prince and opened the door wide enough for Kíli to slip through. “They’re in the back,” he told the prince quietly, not explaining who ‘they’ were.

He followed Bofur through the shop and into the workroom beyond where two tall figures waited in silence. One was a dark-haired man, cloaked in gray, with a star pin at his throat. The other was also dressed in gray, and when he stepped out of the shadows Kíli felt his throat close.

Gandalf’s familiar and much-missed voice rumbled, “It is good to see you again, Kíli my lad. I could only wish that it would not have been in such dire circumstances.”

Kíli shook his head and looked at Bofur askance, “Did you know about this?”

Bofur held up his hands entreatingly, “No, lad, on my oath I did not! Bard’s message just said there were two that you should meet.”

The prince turned back toward Gandalf and sighed heavily, “Don’t mistake me, I am glad to see you Gandalf, but why did it take so long? We… _needed_ you. _Fíli_ needs you.”

The wizard smiled sadly at him and pulled the young dwarf into his arms. “I am sorry, Kíli, I was tending to matters elsewhere and I did not know. Once I learned what was happening here I came as soon as I was able.” He sighed, his voice heavy with regret, “Thorin seemed well enough at the coronation, I never suspected the gold sickness would take hold of him again.”

Kíli nodded, it was true that the last time the Gandalf was in Erebor his uncle had apparently recovered from the madness that gripped him before the battle. He had even reconciled with Bilbo, and it was only in the weeks and months that followed that the sickness came creeping back to steal the King’s mind from him. “You will help us now, won’t you?” he asked urgently.

“Of course, that is why I am here!” Gandalf exclaimed. “But before we discuss how that may be accomplished, I would like to introduce my good friend, Halfalas of the Dúnedain. He will be assisting us in this endeavor.”

The dark-haired man smiled and bowed slightly, his hand on his chest, “Prince Kíli.”

Kíli gasped in surprise and elation. A Dúnedain Ranger! Having lived in Eriador all his life the young prince had heard tales of the Rangers, and had even seen them on the road once or twice. Although many men and hobbits considered them to be grim and secretive, even frightening, he had been taught they were noble Men and doughty warriors, always willing to help someone in need. Even better, their knowledge of the wilderlands of the North was unsurpassed by any, save possibly the elves. His heart soared, with Gandalf’s help and that of the Rangers, surely his brother could soon be prised from Thorin’s grasp!

The young prince bowed in return, a wide grin on his face, “Welcome, Master Halfalas. I would be _exceedingly_ grateful for any assistance you could give us.” Kíli turned back to the wizard, “So how are you going to get Fíli away from Uncle, Gandalf?”

Gandalf’s brows rose, “I? _I_ will have nothing to do with it, at least not directly.” Seeing the young prince’s confusion, he continued, “Kíli, be sensible, I can hardly march up to the gates of Erebor to denounce Thorin and demand that Fíli be given into my care.”

Kíli scowled, “I know that, Gandalf!” Indeed, the young prince was certain that if anyone—especially a non-dwarf—so much as hinted that Fíli was being misused it would result in the King being even more possessive, and possibly more abusive toward his brother.

“And you also must know that if you and Fíli were to disappear and I had been recently seen within a hundred leagues of the Mountain, I would be suspected immediately.” Gandalf nodded briskly, “Speed and secrecy are essential if we are to succeed. Halfalas and his compatriots will help spirit you both out of the Mountain and accompany you to Rivendell with all haste. I will meet you there.”

The Ranger’s keen gray eyes fell on Kíli, “My lord prince, the longer before they realize that you and your brother are missing the more likely it is we will be successful. Will there an occasion when your absence might go unnoticed for a day or even half a day?”

Kíli pursed his lips in thought, understanding immediately how useful it would be to conceal their absence as long as possible. “Well, the King is preparing to visit our cousin Dáin in the Iron Hills in a few weeks time, but I think he is planning to take Fíli with him.”

“But not you?” Gandalf asked, his keen eyes on the young dwarf’s face.

He snorted derisively, “Not likely. It’s traditional for one of the heirs to stay in the Mountain at all times. Besides, he’d much prefer to be parted from me than from Fíli.”

The wizard’s eyes narrowed, “I see that you felt that you could trust Bofur to aid you in this effort. Are there others in the Company that would also keep your secret—Óin, for example?”

Kíli recalled how Glóin had to restrain his brother to keep him from confronting Thorin after the last time their uncle had abused Fíli. “Aye, I’m certain he would,” he responded with a nod.

“Well then,” the wizard said with a gleam in his eye, “I anticipate that your brother will be too ill to accompany the King on such a long journey. _Far_ too ill.”

The young prince stared at him in confusion, “What? But we’re going to Rivendell, which is a much longer journey than…” He flushed and grinned sheepishly, “Ah, of course.”

“Now _that_ is settled,” Gandalf answered wryly, “It is time to discuss the details of our plan.”

-ooo-

That evening found Kíli in Fíli’s bed, where he spent most nights when the King’s attention was directed elsewhere. He buried his face in his brother’s hair and tightened his arms around him as Fíli sighed contentedly.

“Fíli, _azyungel_ , there is something I need to tell you,” Kíli began.

His brother immediately tensed in his arms. “What is it, Kíli, is something wrong?”

“No, no,” Kíli said soothingly, “it is something good, I promise.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I…I have started making arrangements for us to leave, in secret. To get you away from the Mountain—away from Thorin.”

Fíli pulled away from his brother and sat up, his eyes wide with fear, “No, Kíli, no, it is too risky! We will be caught and brought back here… He will _hurt_ you for trying to help me—perhaps even kill you! I will not have you suffer for me!”

The dark-haired dwarf grasped both of Fíli’s hands in his, “Although it is nothing compared to what you have endured at his hands, can’t you see that I’m already hurting? How much it pains me to see you suffer? To watch him _killing_ you, day by day, while I stand by, unable to intervene? Besides,” he added, trying to sound as confident as possible, “it is not so risky, we will have aid from outside the Mountain, and within.”

“Kíli, please! What Thorin does, it…it is not so bad; I can endure it for as long as I need to. Please don’t risk yourself like this, there must be another way.”

His brother snorted, “Doing nothing is not an option I will consider, so don’t even suggest it. But there _is_ something else I had contemplated… Before I knew there were those who would help us, I had thought of trying to kill Thorin.”

Kíli watched his brother’s reaction carefully, as he expected, Fíli gasped in shock, “No, _atamanel_ , no, I forbid it! It is treason, and they will execute you if you are caught!”

The younger dwarf pulled his brother close and kissed him fiercely, “I am not eager to leave you, brother, but if that is the price I must pay to keep you safe and sane, I would pay it, willingly.” Kíli’s lips twisted into a wry grin, “So the other option…”

Fíli sighed, sensing defeat, “I am not talking you out of this, am I?” The smug look on Kíli’s face was all the answer he needed. “Who here do you think would aid us?”

“Bofur has already, and he tells me that Nori can be trusted as well. Óin too, and Ori, though I don’t plan to tell Ori unless we need his assistance.”

The blond looked thoughtful, “What about Dwalin?”

Kíli ran a hand through his hair pensively, “I’d like to think he and Balin would help, or at least not hinder us, but they have always been so loyal to Thorin…” He shook his head, “I’d rather not risk it.”

The Crown Prince took a deep breath and nodded agreement, “Tell me everything.”

-ooo-

A few days after King Thorin’s departure for the Iron Hills the last wagons rumbled out of Erebor shortly before the gates closed for the night. Bofur watched anxiously from a concealed location nearby, ready to intervene should it become necessary. As a member of the Company he had a privileged position, and was certain he could persuade the guards to let the wagon pass, but it would also make wagon’s departure…memorable. And on this occasion ‘memorable’ was something to be avoided at all costs. The guard took the bill of lading from the two men on the wagon’s seat; by all appearances ordinary carters from Dale. Bofur heaved a sigh of relief when the guards waved the wagon through with no more than a cursory glance into the wagon bed.

Some hours later the wagon and its drivers disappeared into a nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of Dale. The drivers, Dalesmen no longer, were next seen mounted on tall, swift horses, garbed in gray with star pins on their cloaks. They passed through the gates unremarked, for Rangers were well known in Dale, and these two had arrived the previous day with urgent messages for the King. If anyone had bothered to look closely—and no one did, given the lateness of the hour—they might have noted a smaller figure seated in front of each man, concealed by the folds of their cloaks. They vanished into the night, riding hard toward Esgaroth.


	2. A Path Retraced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fíli and Kíli begin their flight from the Mountain, can they escape a furious Thorin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Road trip! This is where the 'lots of other characters' part kicks in--I hope you all enjoy the cameos. And virtual cookies to everyone who figures out who Halfalas is in my head canon.

Dwalin glanced up, surprised to see his brother enter his office at such an early hour in the morning. What’s more, Balin was clearly agitated.

“What is it?” the big dwarf asked.

Balin held up a hand to stay his questions and crossed the room to lean against Dwalin’s desk, taking a moment to compose himself. “The Crown Prince never appeared for a meeting scheduled this morning. I sent a guard to check on him, and…” He took a deep breath before continuing, “neither he nor Kíli can be found. Their beds appear to have been slept in, but none of the servants have seen them since last night.”

The bald dwarf let out a long breath and fell back in his chair. “ _Mahal_ ,” he whispered, torn between relief and dismay. “They did it, they actually did it.” Dwalin looked up to meet his brother’s eyes, “It cannot be a coincidence that Fíli was too ill to accompany Thorin.”

His brother snorted, “That much is clear. At least this choice is greatly preferable to attempting to assassinate the King,” he added ruefully. “What will you do?”

Dwalin was silent for a long moment, considering his options. “I think,” he said finally, that we will need to search the Mountain first, and send word to Dale and Laketown to ask if they have seen the princes. After all, there’s no need to worry Thorin…prematurely,” he added cautiously. “If they are not found within a day, I will send a raven to inform the King.”

Balin arched an eyebrow, “That’s a big risk, brother, you know Thorin will be furious when he learns they are missing.”

His brother turned away and replied gruffly, “It is far less than we _should_ have done.”

“Aye, it is,” Balin murmured regretfully. “But please take care to at least _appear_ to be searching for them, or the King will surely find someone who will,” he said dryly, patting Dwalin on the shoulder before taking his leave.

“May the Maker bless your travels, lads,” Dwalin whispered to the empty room.

-ooo-

Thorin arrived at the Mountain a week later, so enraged that Dwalin almost wished for the return of the dragon.

“How could they just _vanish_? The King demanded, his fist thumping on the fine wood of his desk, making all the objects on it jump. “Were they not _guarded_?”

“Sire,” Dwalin replied evenly, “they were always guarded when they left the Mountain.” Of course, he knew that wasn’t quite true; although he’d had strict instructions to safeguard the Crown Prince, Kíli had been much less closely watched. Since that fact might have some bearing on the current problem, he felt it best not to point it out to the angry monarch. “You have never asked for them to be guarded here in the Mountain. It is their home, after all,” he added under his breath.

The King growled but did not otherwise respond, and Dwalin breathed a sigh of relief that so far Thorin’s wrath wasn’t directed solely at him for failing to prevent their disappearance. But then, he suspected that until now Thorin had never seriously contemplated that his nephews would have the desire to flee.

“What have you done so far?” the dark-haired dwarf asked curtly, all the while pacing restlessly to and fro across the room, clearly in need of an outlet for his anger and frustration.

“We’ve completed an initial examination of the residential and public regions of the Mountain. If you wish, we can begin searching the mines and other uninhabited areas, but it will take weeks to do the job properly. It’ll be dangerous as well, since as you know there are unstable sections that were damaged by the dragon.” He sighed, “There has been no ransom demand for their return, so it seems their disappearance was not motivated by profit. I’ve also sent word to Dale, Laketown, and the nearby dwarf settlements; all report that the Princes have not have been seen recently.”

Thorin glared at him, “They could be halfway to Bree by now, you fool! What about the tree-shaggers in Mirkwood and Rivendell? Beorn or Bilbo in the Shire? You should have had messengers out on the first day!”

Dwalin looked up and met the eyes of his king. “And what would you have the messengers _say_ to King Thranduil and Lord Elrond, your majesty?” he asked quietly.

“Why, that…” Thorin began angrily. He fell silent, considering their options, none of which were good. If they claimed that the princes had been stolen out of the Mountain by persons unknown it would suggest a weakness that the king would be quite loath to reveal. The other choice was to acknowledge that the lads might have fled of their own free will, which Dwalin suspected that admitting, even to himself, was even less palatable to Thorin.

The king suddenly roared in anger, sweeping the contents of the desk onto the floor in front of a startled Dwalin. Then Thorin leaned against the desk, breathing heavily, struggling to control himself. After a moment he snarled, “Search the Mountain again, including the mines—every area that is accessible. If they are hidden, they must be found! And send someone you trust to make discreet inquiries along the route to Ered Luin. Descriptions only, no names.”

The bald dwarf nodded, “Aye, sire, it shall be done.”

Thorin turned away, shoulders stiff and hands clasped behind his back. “Get out of my sight,” he growled, “before I decide to take this failure out of your hide.”

-ooo-

The first few leagues on the Rangers’ mounts were rather terrifying for the princes—the horses were much taller and faster than the ponies they were accustomed to riding. But seeing the ground rush past them so quickly was a balm in itself; every stride took them farther from the Lonely Mountain and toward a new life. They ran on through the night, only stopping when the horses needed to rest. The dwarves could see the lake glittering to their left; Halfalas explained that they were not taking the usual road through Esgaroth, instead they were cutting southwest from Dale to reach Mirkwood using the most direct route.

Dawn found them camped in a wooded dell within sight of the forest. Fíli took charge of setting up their bedrolls while Kíli collected what passed for a meal under the circumstances. When the younger dwarf returned to his brother, he was surprised to find Fíli pulling roughly at his hair, visibly distressed. Kíli knelt next to him, asking anxiously, “What is it, _sannadad_? What is wrong with your hair?”

“I want them out, Kíli, please help me take them out!” the blond cried softly, close to tears.

With a start Kíli realized his brother was referring to the elaborate gold clasps in his hair that Thorin had insisted he wear to mark his status as the King’s consort. They were beautifully made, but Fíli could only see the ugliness of what they represented. “Of course, _âzyungel_ , let me do it,” Kíli said soothingly. He sat down behind his brother, pulling him close, and gently removed the offending ornaments. Then he reached inside his tunic for a pouch he had kept near his heart since that awful day Thorin had claimed Fíli as his own; it contained the simple silver clasps that Kíli had made with such heartfelt love for his One.

Within moments Kíli’s tokens where back where they belonged and the younger prince murmured, “I swear you’ll never have to wear those hateful things again, Fíli.” Kíli weighed the gold clasps in his hand, tempted to fling them as far away as he could, but reason prevailed; it would be foolhardy to leave them where they might be found to give Thorin a clue to where they had gone. Instead, he dropped them in his pocket, vowing to take a hammer to them at the first opportunity. The two princes fell asleep tangled together, a comforting reminder of the nights they had done so before reaching Erebor and everything had gone so terribly wrong.

A few hours rest and cold provisions were all they were allowed before they were mounted and on their way again. It was not the most comfortable way to travel, but Fíli and Kíli understood all too well the need for speed and stealth so near Erebor.

It was full dark when they reached Mirkwood’s eaves, but instead of entering the wood the Dúnedain slowed and led them to a small cave tucked behind thick brush. They entered, and it was immediately apparent that the cave had often served as a campsite in the past; the firepit was well-used and unlit torches sat in the walls. Even more surprising, in the back of the cave two ponies snuffled at their hay, and several bundles of supplies were stacked nearby.

“What is this place?” Kíli asked curiously. “And who left the ponies?”

Amras, the younger ranger who had accompanied Halfalas, grinned in response. “Young Bain had a string of ponies to sell in Laketown today. It seems unlikely that anyone would notice that he sold two less than he left Dale with this morning.”

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Halfalas told the princes, “we leave at first light. Once we enter the wood it should be safe to go at the ponies’ pace; it’s too hard on the horses to be ridden double and at speed for too long.”

“Understood,” Fíli murmured. He met the Ranger’s eyes, feeling humbled by the thought and preparation that had gone into their rescue. “I…I cannot express how grateful we are for your aid, and for that of the others who have assisted us. I can do little more than give you my most sincere thanks now, but on my honor your kindness will not be forgotten.”

Next to him Kíli gave a firm nod of agreement, “By either of us.”

Halfalas smiled, “We have far to go still, you may very well tire of our company before we reach Rivendell. But you are both most welcome.”

After a hot meal the dwarves set out their bedrolls and curled up entwined in each other’s arms. Neither Ranger seemed surprised by this behavior; presumably Gandalf had warned them that the brothers were unusually close. Kíli stroked his brother’s hair, more at peace than he had been in months. He already missed Fíli’s golden beauty; the Rangers had brought supplies enabling them to disguise themselves, Kíli with a full false beard that itched abominably, and Fíli’s distinctive blond hair and beard had been dyed red. But the young prince fell asleep thinking it a small price to pay for his brother’s freedom and safety.

Their first day traveling in Mirkwood was uneventful except for occasional sightings of elves in the tree near the path. Their presence made the dwarves uneasy given their last experience traversing the wood, but the watching elves made no move to confront them or impede their progress. The four companions conversed in low voices to pass the time; though not as unhealthy as it had been when Dol Guldur was occupied, Mirkwood was still not a cheerful or comfortable place to travel.

The princes were sitting near the fire at their camp that evening when suddenly several elves dropped to the path ahead of them. Kíli swore when he saw the lead elf, a familiar looking male with pale blond hair. “Fíli,” he hissed, “that’s Prince Legolas—he might recognize us!”

They pulled their hoods up and kept their heads down; the disguises might hold up to cursory inspection but not to someone who knew their features. Unperturbed, Halfalas got up to meet the elves and had a brief conversation with the elf prince in Sindarin. Then, to the dwarves immense relief, the elves disappeared back into the tree as silently has they had arrived.

The Ranger calmly rejoined the others, and before Fíli could speak Kíli hissed, “What was _that_ about?”

“Nothing to concern you,” Halfalas assured them, “the prince was just being courteous.”

The dwarves exchanged a wide-eyed look, unsure what to make of this. Finally, Fíli asked skeptically, “They have no plans to hinder us?” When the ranger shook his head the blond snorted, “It is said that elves are keen-sighted, I thought for certain they would recognize us.”

“Oh, they know who you are,” Halfalas told them placidly, pulling out his pipe and filling the bowl. “Gandalf told the King that we would be escorting you through the wood.”

“What?” Kíli cried, staring at the Ranger in shock.

His brother was also startled, and narrowed his eyes in suspicion, “Why would Thranduil let us pass unmolested? He and Thorin despise each other!”

The ranger leaned against a fallen log and let out a stream of pipe smoke before replying. “One thing you must remember about elves,” he said finally, “is that they always take the long view. However much Thranduil may dislike King Thorin, having dwarves in Erebor is much preferable to the dragon. I daresay that he also heard rumors that your uncle has again fallen prey to the gold sickness, and although Thorin is secure on the throne for now, he will not always be. Fifty years or a hundred is an eye blink to the elven king, and while it costs him nothing to let you pass through his wood unacknowledged, there is potentially great benefit to insuring that Thorin’s heirs are whole, sane, and most importantly, in his debt.” Halfalas’ face twisted into a wry smile, “But I suspect that withholding something from your uncle that he so ardently desires is not without appeal as well.”

“I can certainly understand _that_ ,” Kíli grumbled, and it did his heart good to see Fíli’s eyes light in amusement.

The remainder of their journey through Mirkwood was unremarkable, and mounted and well-provisioned far swifter than traveling east with the Company had been. Their ranger guides told them that with the Necromancer’s departure from Dol Guldur the spiders had all but disappeared, a great relief to them all. Occasionally one of the princes spotted elves in the trees near the path—Kíli once vowing that he had seen Tauriel, the red-haired guard who had saved him in Laketown, but they were not approached again.

Two weeks after they entered, the dwarves and their escort emerged from the trees to gaze upon the broad vale of the Anduin toward the mountain peaks beyond. Kíli nudged his pony closer to Fíli’s and reached across the clasp his hand. Their eyes met, exchanging a look of pure joy. They still had far to go and their destination was uncertain, but it seemed highly unlikely now that pursuit from the Mountain could catch up to them.

A few days later they reached the Carrock, and to the princes surprise the rangers led them unerringly to a cache of supplies concealed in the rocks at its base. There was fodder for their mounts and food; bread, cheese, fruit and honey. Halfalas explained they been left by Beorn who had also been apprised of their flight by Gandalf.

“We’re not stopping there, then?” Kíli asked wistfully, recalling the comfort of his hall.

Amras shrugged, “There's no reason to go there since he provided us with supplies, and It’s best to avoid being seen.”

Fíli nodded thoughtfully, “Thorin is likely to send word of our disappearance to Beorn—this way he can say truthfully that he has not seen us. Though I would have liked to visit him again as well,” he added a little sadly.

“We will, Fee, when we come back this way,” Kíli replied, trying to sound confident for his brother’s sake, despite the fact that they both knew it was quite possible they might never return.

Happily, the return passage through the mountains was much less hazardous than the previous journey. The goblin population was greatly diminished by the Battle of Five Armies, so although the companions ran into scattered groups of orcs and wargs, they were nothing that two hardy rangers and two stout dwarves couldn’t handle with ease. The princes found the Men to be pleasant traveling companions, though perhaps not as boisterous as a party of dwarves would have been. But surprisingly, under their grim exteriors Halfalas and Amras proved to be good-humored and kind, ready with tales of their travels and the people they had met. Kíli saw the tension and fear ease in his brother with every league farther from the Mountain, and he felt as though a great weight was being lifted off his soul as well.

-ooo-

It was a few days shy of midsummer—almost two years to the day since their last visit—that Fíli and Kíli rode into the valley of Rivendell. But their peaceful descent down the twisting path into the valley could not have been more different than their arrival with the Company, barely escaping with their lives from the orcs and wargs chasing them. Halfalas stopped and briefly conversed in elvish with one of the sentries before being waved through to proceed into the settlement. The Ranger was clearly familiar with Rivendell, and led them into a wide stableyard on the edge of the valley.

“I am told that Mithrandir is here already,” Halfalas told them. “He and Lord Elrond will wish to speak to you as soon as possible, but I suspect you will be given time to refresh yourselves first.”

As the ranger led them down a walkway toward the main building, a small figure ran up to them, stopping in front of Halfalas with a delighted smile on his face. At first Fíli thought the lad was a young elf, but a glance told him otherwise, he lacked an elf’s pointed ears and the otherwordly air that all elves seemed to possess. A child of men, then, and a young one at that, judging by his face. In addition, the boy’s resemblance to the two rangers was unmistakable; he shared their dark hair and gray eyes as well as their stature; despite his youth the lad already topped the dwarf princes in height.

“Halfalas!” the boy cried excitedly, “ _Ada_ told me you were coming today. Are you going to stay long?”

“A few days at least,” the ranger said kindly, pulling the boy into a brief embrace. “I’m sure we’ll have a chance to talk after your _ada’s_ guests are settled.” He raised an eyebrow, “Have you forgotten your manners, lad? You should introduce yourself.”

The boy blushed faintly and turned to the dwarves, bowing, “I beg your pardon for my rudeness, I was excited to see my kinsman again. My name is Estel.”

Kíli grinned at the boy, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Estel.” They had decided that their true names should not be used during the journey, so after giving a sidelong glance to his brother, he said, “My name is Naki, and this is my cousin Jafi.”

The brothers bowed in unison, “At your service.”

Estel’s eyes widened. “You’re _dwarves_ , aren’t you?” he asked breathlessly. “I’ve never met a dwarf before! A group of them came to visit when I was younger and caused all sorts of trouble, but I was never allowed to speak to them.”

The disappointment in his voice was obvious, and Kíli choked back a laugh, carefully not meeting his brother’s eyes. “Well, lad, you’ve met two now, what would you like to know about dwarf-kind?”

Halfalas rolled his eyes and muttered to Fíli, “Oh, he’s done it now.” And indeed, Kíli’s friendly prompting unleashed a torrent of questions from the boy.

Fíli glanced at the ranger curiously, “Estel is your kin, yet he lives here?”

Halfalas gazed at him warily before speaking, “Aye, his father was my cousin, and he died when Estel was just a babe. Lord Elrond offered to foster him here in Rivendell.”

The dwarf prince blinked in surprise. Why would the boy be fostered to elves when he had close kinsmen able to care for him? It was especially puzzling since Halfalas had mentioned that he had a wife and children of his own. Estel seemed a bright, sturdy lad; any dwarf family would be pleased to raise such a child.

Finally, Fíli asked hesitantly, “Is…is that _usual_?”

“No,” the ranger replied flatly, his tone meant to discourage further questioning.

Fíli was still pondering the odd ways of Men when an elf came forward and took the princes aside to a small room where they were able to wash and eat. Shortly afterward they were ushered into Lord Elrond’s study, where Gandalf and the elf lord awaited them.

“Ah, here are the princes, and looking well, too!” Gandalf exclaimed, smiling under his bushy eyebrows. He laid a hand gently on Fíli’s shoulder, “I am sorry, my lad, that I could not assist you more quickly. I came as soon as I learned that Thorin was mistreating you.”

The blond prince struggled to keep his voice even despite the lump in his throat, “I understand, Gandalf.” He shook his head ruefully, “Despite his madness, Thorin was careful not to let anyone but other dwarves witness what was happening.” He clasped Gandalf’s arm, “Kíli and I, we…there are no words to thank you for what you have done…” Fíli’s voice broke and Kíli stepped forward to wrap an arm around his brother’s shoulder.

Gandalf looked down at them, his eyes sad, “No words are necessary, my friends. I only wish I could have prevented your suffering.”

After a moment Fíli cleared his throat and turned to the elf waiting patiently nearby. He bowed deeply, “Of course we are grateful to you as well, Lord Elrond, for providing us refuge.” The prince quirked a smile at the elf lord, “Kíli and I will endeavor not to abuse your hospitality; unlike the last time you allowed dwarves in Rivendell.”

Elrond’s eyebrow rose, “You are most welcome. I hope you will make yourselves comfortable here, and I will be sure to provide a guide to the bathing facilities,” he added dryly, certain that all remembered the impromptu fountain bath during the last visit by the dwarves. Fíli reddened, and beside him his brother snickered softly.

“You are welcome to remain as long as you like, of course, but have you given thought to whether you wish to stay or continue your journey?” the elf asked gravely.

The princes had indeed considered what their ultimate destination should be, but it came as a surprise that Elrond might allow them to remain in Rivendell. “It is…most kind of you to offer, Lord Elrond,” Fíli stuttered. After a glance at his brother, he met the elf lord’s eyes, his face thoughtful, “Rivendell is lovely, and we would be honored to stay here, but it feels too close to Erebor for my comfort. Our uncle is…not rational, and I worry what he might do if he learned we were living here. My heart tells me we should put more distance between us and the Mountain.”

“I think that is wise, Fíli,” Gandalf responded.

“As much as it grieves me to say so, continuing west to Ered Luin is far too risky,” the blond prince went on. “We are well known there, and it will be one of the first places Thorin will look for us.”

The two princes exchanged a troubled look, and Kíli said softly, “But Mum is there, and we haven’t seen her since before the quest. We didn’t want her to come to Erebor when things were so bad. Neither did Uncle, though for different reasons,” he added bitterly. “It’s hard to think of just letting her believe we’ve disappeared, and leaving her to worry and wonder if we’re dead. Do you think we could send word to her?”

The wizard nodded, “That can be arranged. I can see no harm in letting her know that you are well, as long as she does not know _where_ you are.” He caught Fíli’s eyes, “So if you do not wish to go west and or remain here, that leaves the realms of Men in the south. Is that you what you have in mind?”

Fíli nodded slowly, “We think that is the best option available to us.”

“I agree,” Gandalf said, sounding a little smug, “and that is what I would have recommended. But keep in mind there are very few dwarves living in Rohan or Gondor, so you will have little or no contact with your own kind,” he added warningly.

“We understand that, Gandalf,” Kíli replied, “it’ll be uncomfortable, but we think it’s for the best. If we live with other dwarves, we’ll always have to worry about someone recognizing us and sending word to Thorin.”

“And if we’re surrounded by Men, at least we’ll know to be wary if strange dwarves suddenly appear.” Fíli snorted, “Finding and returning us to Erebor is not a task Uncle would trust to any but other than dwarves.”

“South it is, then,” Gandalf said decisively. “I will give some thought to whether Rohan or Gondor might be a better choice, and we will speak more soon. For now, I think you both should rest after your long journey.”

After thanking their host again, the dwarves were led away to the room that had been prepared for them, leaving Elrond and Gandalf alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:
> 
> âzyungel = love of loves  
> sannadad = true/perfect brother
> 
>  
> 
> Sindarin
> 
> ada = father


	3. The Journey South

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili and Fili continue their journey, searching for a new home far from Erebor and King Thorin.

Once the princes had departed, Elrond gazed at Gandalf for a moment before chuckling wryly, “I must say I am surprised. I have had little contact with Thorin’s nephews before, and I expected them to be more like their uncle. They are much more courteous, to say the least.”

“Oh, make no mistake, they are like Thorin in many ways; brave, stubborn, and fiercely loyal,” Gandalf told him. “But unlike their uncle, they were raised without the wealth and privilege of Erebor, and therefore do not mourn its loss. Nor are they bound by the…” he harrumphed before continuing, “preconceptions about other races that burden Thorin and other dwarves of like mind.

“We need Erebor, my friend,” the wizard said with a sigh, “and we need the line of Durin. I am convinced that Fíli could be a very fine king someday, and Kíli as well if they are given the opportunity.” He snorted, “Besides, neither of them has shown any sign of succumbing to the gold sickness that afflicts their uncle, which is most encouraging, to say the least! Thank the Valar that we were able to remove them from Thorin’s influence before he damaged them irreparably.”

The elf lord shook his head, “But how long must Erebor endure the rule of a mad king who would so misuse his nephew and heir?”

“Ah, that is a much thornier problem than extracting two princes,” Gandalf murmured. “Thus far, his madness has primarily affected his own people, and as long as that remains the case I’m afraid it would be difficult to justify outside intervention, even if anything useful could be accomplished, which is doubtful.” He shook his head, “The dwarves of Erebor have accepted Thorin as their king, and I think it is up to them to decide whether his reign should continue. Eventually, it may require someone to find the courage to make a stand against him if they do not wish to wait until old age takes him to Aulë’s halls.”

“However Thorin’s reign ends is it certain that young Fíli will rule after him?” Elrond asked, brow furrowed in concern. “He will surely not be pleased with his nephews’ flight, and can simply name another heir if he wishes.”

Gandalf exhaled loudly, “That is a risk, no doubt. There is also a chance that now Fíli is free he could refuse the throne if it is offered to him.” He met Elrond’s gaze, “But as much as I would like to see one of Thorin’s nephews succeed him, there was a far more important reason for assisting them.” The wizard shook his head, his eyes shadowed with sorrow, “I would not see two such brave and loving hearts broken by Thorin’s madness.”

-ooo-

Fíli and Kíli were shown to a large room with a covered balcony overlooking the valley. It was beautifully appointed in a distinctly elven style, as was to be expected. What was less expected was revealed when Kíli opened a door on one side of the room to find a private bathing chamber.

The brothers looked and each other and howled with laughter, “They’re certainly not taking any chances this time,” the brunet chortled.

Fíli’s gaze was drawn to the room’s wide and comfortable-looking bed. “Just one bed,” the blond murmured, “it seems that Gandalf had a word with Lord Elrond.”

“You…you don’t mind, do you, _nadad_?” Kíli asked anxiously. There had been few opportunities for intimacy on the journey to Rivendell, and Kíli was unsure how ready his brother was for anything of that sort after Thorin’s abuse.

Fíli immediately gathered his brother in his arms. “Of course not, _atamanel_. I love the bed, and will love it more with you in it. I hope you like it as well, since I plan to spend a lot of time here with you over the next few days.”

“I love you, _âzyungel_ ,” Kíli whispered. “You know I want nothing more than to be with you. But you must tell me if there’s anything, _anything_ , I do that might make you uncomfortable…”

“Shhh, Kíli, I will, I promise,” Fíli assured him, kissing him softly. “But this is the start of a new life for us, one where we can be together as we’ve always dreamed. Let me show you how much I want that.”

His brother gave a wordless cry of joy as their lips met in a searing kiss. No more needed to be said as they stumbled across the room, arms still entwined, and tumbled onto the bed.

-ooo-

Their stay in Rivendell was a dream come true for Kíli. Not that either dwarf ever felt truly at home there; it was far too different—too _elvish_ —for that to be the case. But it was peaceful, and safe, its very strangeness easing Fíli’s pain in a way that his brother suspected living among other dwarves would not be. The older dwarf still had occasional nightmares of Thorin’s abuse, but they quickly lessened as the days went on. The princes saw their Ranger friends frequently, and the human lad, Estel, was always eager for their company and for tales of other lands and dwarvish customs. Fíli never did learn why the boy was living among the elves, but he and Kíli both grew fond of the young Man, enjoying his cheerful nature and boundless enthusiasm.

It was more than a week before two ponies and three horses left Rivendell to begin the journey south. Gandalf was to guide the princes the rest of the way, but Halfalas and Amras had decided to accompany them since their paths lay together until they reached the Rangers’ homes in the Angle. The dwarves felt rested and content after their stay in the elven enclave, and were eager to be on the road once again.

A fortnight later they said a fond farewell to the two Men when they reached the turnoff to the ranger settlement, accompanied by expressions of gratitude and friendship. Gandalf and the princes continued south, wending their way through the empty lands of Eregion and Enedwaith and into the hills of Dunland. Kíli had gleefully shed the false beard on their departure from Rivendell, and Fíli, much to his brother’s satisfaction, was letting his hair return to its natural golden shade.

Traveling with Gandalf was unhurried and comfortable, and though the journey was long, they met few hazards along the way. A band of unkempt brigands were foolhardy enough to attack them one night in Dunland, but soon learned that a wizard and two well-armed dwarves were not the easy targets they expected.

Late summer found them on the wide grasslands of Rohan. In the end, Gandalf had recommended that the princes not settle there, and the reason became apparent the second day after they had passed the border into the horselords’ realm. A small band of riders bearing the royal standard of Rohan surrounded them, demanding their identities and a payment to cross their lands. Fíli told them the names that he and Kíli had adopted—the men obviously knew Gandalf and regarded him warily—and handed over the requested gold without comment. As irritating as it was to have to pay for their passage, it was a small amount and well worth the cost if it meant they could pass through unremarked.

When the men had ridden away Fíli arched an eyebrow at Gandalf, asking, “What was _that_ about?”

Gandalf sighed, “Rohan is not well-served by its current king. King Fengel is greedy and selfish, and consequently not beloved by the people of Rohan. That was just an example of his avarice. And it may interest you to know,” the wizard continued, his eyes twinkling, “that King Fengel is at odds with his son and heir, Thengel—so much so that Thengel now lives in Gondor. You see,” he chuckled, “There is a precedent for wayward heirs to find refuge there.”

When the three companions rode through the gates of Minas Tirith a week later, the dwarves gazed around in amazement. Most settlements of Men they had seen consisted of rude wooden structures, but this…this was impressive.

As they settled their mounts in a stable on the first level, Fíli murmured, “I have glimpsed the ruins of Annúminas from afar, this place puts me in mind of it.”

“And well it should,” Gandalf told him dryly, “both were built by Númenóreans in exile, at the height of their power and influence. Their descendents can still be found here, and in the Rangers of the North like Halfalas and Amras. They are few in number now, but honorable and valiant nonetheless.”

Kíli stamped the pavement under his boots. “There is good stone here,” he said with a smile. “And although it seems strange to be on the side of a mountain rather than beneath it, I…I think I could be happy here.”

Fíli clasped his arm and smiled warmly in reply, “I could as well, _nadadith_.”

The wizard had spoken to a gate guard when they arrived and asked for word to be sent to the Lord Steward. The respectful look Gandalf received reassured them that he was well known in the city and the message would be delivered as promised.

Gandalf might have been a familiar sight to the people of Minas Tirith, but dwarves were clearly not. Eyes and whispers followed them wherever they went, though none were overtly rude or hostile. They found a tavern where they could await the reply from the Lord Steward, and the wizard took the opportunity to tell them about Gondor’s ruler, Lord Turgon, and his son, Ecthelion. A short while later a man in elaborate black and silver armor appeared to escort them up the winding streets to the tower at its pinnacle. Fíli and Kíli took in the sights around them with interest, aware of the curious stares of the Gondorians they passed.

When the three travelers and their escort reached the fifth level, Kíli whispered anxiously to the wizard; too quietly for Gondorian guardsman to hear, “Does the Lord Steward know that Fíli and I are coming, Gandalf?”

“Oh, certainly,” he replied easily. “No doubt the gate guard informed him that I was accompanied by two dwarves. Your kind is quite rare in these parts, as you have no doubt noticed.”

“You didn’t warn them that we were coming or who we are before now?” Fíli hissed in surprise.

“My dear boy, I could hardly give them advance notice before I was certain that you would succeed in escaping Erebor, or that this would be your final destination. Besides,” Gandalf added, looking more than a little smug, “It is one thing to contemplate giving refuge to dwarf princes when they are leagues away, but quite another when two earnest young dwarves appear homeless and in need on your doorstep.”

“What if he says ‘no’?” Kíli asked in horror, his eyes wide.

The wizard did not seem too worried by this prospect, “I am told that I can be quite persuasive when I wish to be.”

The princes exchanged a glance at this, having seen evidence of his claim often enough themselves. After all, he had certainly persuaded a skeptical dwarf king to hire and unknown and untried hobbit as their burglar!

Gandalf puffed on his pipe and met Fíli’s eyes, “but it will also be up to you two to convince the Lord Steward of your sincerity. He will need to be assured that you will be good citizens of his realm, and not bring trouble and discord with you.”

“How should we do that?” the blond asked worriedly.

“Just be yourself, Fíli,” the wizard replied, smiling and laying his hand briefly on the dwarf’s shoulder. “Lord Turgon and his son are noble men, quick-witted and keen-sighted. They will sense a lie, so speak only the truth as you know it.”

Fíli drew in a sharp breath, “Will I have to tell them _everything_? Why we left Erebor—left Uncle?” Unconsciously Kíli edged closer to his brother, offering silent support.

“No,” Gandalf replied, shaking his head and smiling reassuringly. “They will understand that you cannot reveal all you know. Be forthright if you are not comfortable discussing something or do not know an answer and I think they will not press you.”

The three fell silent, lost in their own thoughts, and presently they reached the highest level of the city, the two dwarves gasping at the view of the plain far below them. They crossed a wide plaza, past a tree—a _dead_ tree, of all things—guarded by two more guardsmen in black and silver. Kíli glanced at the wizard for an explanation and was given a look in return that he interpreted as meaning Gandalf would explain later.

They climbed the steps to the stone tower that dominated the summit, and were ushered inside. Directly ahead of them was a lofty marble hall with statues lining the sides and a tall throne at the far end. But they did not enter; instead their guide led them to one side and opened the door to a small but well-appointed room where two men awaited them.

The kinship of the two men to one another was immediately apparent; they were both tall, dark-haired and gray eyed. Their similarity to the dwarves’ Ranger friends was also striking , clear evidence of the ties between the Northern and Southern Dúnedain.

The men stood, and the elder smiled in greeting, “Welcome, Mithrandir, it has been too long.” His sharp eyes fell on the two dwarves, curious but not unkind, “The manner of your coming is even more unexpected than usual. Perhaps you could introduce your traveling companions. It is not often that Aulë’s Children are seen this far south.”

Gandalf bowed, “Lord Steward, Lord Ecthelion, may I present Fíli and Kíli of the line of Durin, sister-sons and heirs to Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain.”

While neither man actually gasped in shock, their surprise at this announcement was unmistakable.

The wizard continued, gesturing toward the two startled men, “Fíli and Kíli, Turgon of the House of Hurin, Lord Steward of Gondor, and his son and heir, Lord Ecthelion.”

The two dwarves bowed in unison, “At your service.”

Lord Turgon quickly regained his composure and bowed in response before gesturing for his guests to be seated. He arched an eyebrow at the wizard, “This is…unexpected. Welcome to Gondor, Prince Fíli, Prince Kíli. To what do we owe the honor of your visit? If we had known to expect a delegation from King Thorin, we would have arranged a more fitting greeting.”

Fíli and Gandalf exchanged a look, and after a moment the wizard spoke again, “That is precisely what we wished to avoid, my lord. We come on a most delicate matter, and do not wish for their identities to be known outside this room.”

Fíli swallowed nervously and spoke, feeling that it was his place to make the case for the Gondorians’ aid, “My lords, my brother and I left Erebor without the King’s knowledge or consent, and ask that you allow us to find refuge here in your realm.”

If the two men had been surprised by the sudden appearance of two dwarf princes in their city, this appeal was cause for outright astonishment.

The younger man responded first, sputtering, “What? You have fled your king and wish to live here in secret? _Why_?”

Fíli paled and cast his eyes down. Kíli put a comforting hand on his brother’s arm, saying earnestly, “It is something we would prefer not to speak of, my lords, I hope you understand. I can only say that the conditions of our life were intolerable, and remaining there impossible.”

“My lords,” Gandalf added, “please be assured that _I_ know the reasons for their flight, and that they have done nothing unlawful or dishonorable. Their only crime was to flee a situation that no one should be asked to endure.”

Lord Turgon stroked his chin pensively, his eyes troubled. After a moment he replied, “I am willing to consider your request, but as princes of another realm I’m sure you’ll understand that my first concern must be whether your presence here will increase the danger to Gondor. Should I worry that an army of dwarves will appear at the gates demanding your return?”

Fíli met his eyes steadily, “Although I cannot _guarantee_ that the King will not send an army to retrieve us, I think it quite unlikely. Erebor has few contacts and little influence in this part of Middle Earth. I do not think that King Thorin will seek us here, believing instead that we will hide ourselves among our kin. As well, my uncle is very proud and does readily trust other races. It will be difficult, if not impossible, for him to openly admit that we have fled, and he will not give the task of searching for us to non-dwarves.

“But if it comes to pass that the King does learn of our presence here and demands our return, we understand that you cannot imperil your own people to protect us. All I ask is that you give us an opportunity to flee if possible. We…we cannot— _will_ not—allow ourselves to be taken alive.” The two men’s eyes widened in shock at this announcement, and although Gandalf looked grim, he did not seem surprised.

“My lord, also please know that my brother and I have no intention of depending on your generosity to survive here. We are no strangers to work; indeed, although princes by blood, until Erebor was reclaimed we were princes without a kingdom and its riches.”

“What would you do to support yourselves?” Lord Turgon asked, his eyes keen on Fíli’s face.

The blond shrugged, “I am a weaponsmith of some skill, and my brother an expert bowyer and fletcher. We had thought to buy some property in the city and set up a small forge and workshop to sell our wares.” A smile briefly crossed his face, “That is, if you have need of such things here.”

Lord Ecthelion muttered something that sounded like an oath under his breath, “Valar, yes! I am Captain-General of Gondor’s forces, and I assure you we are always in need of sturdy, good quality weapons. And even here, dwarf-make is a byword for excellent craftsmanship!

“Do you have examples of your work?” He asked eagerly. “Perhaps your swords?” the younger man prompted, noting the sheath on Fíli’s back.

“No, they were made by the one who trained me,” the blond explained calmly. The Gondorians did not notice Fíli’s flinch at the question, though his brother did. The elder prince’s twin blades were made by Thorin as a coming of age gift for his heir, in happier times at home in Ered Luin.

Kíli stepped forward, pulling his weapons off his back as he did so. The blade that the younger prince carried from the Blue Mountains had been lost during the Battle of Five Armies, and his brother had lovingly replaced it—his first courting gift before Thorin had claimed Fíli as his consort. “Fíli made _my_ sword, Lord Ecthelion, and the bow is my own work.” He passed his sword, bow and quiver to the Gondorian, and waited patiently while the two men examined them carefully.

The Steward’s heir handed the weapons back to Kíli and smiled, “Very impressive. I am most definitely interested in purchasing your wares should you stay.”

Lord Turgon glanced at his son. “That seems to have settled the matter,” he noted wryly. “Is there anything we could do that would ease the transition for you?”

“That…that is very kind of you, my lord,” Fíli stuttered, a bright smile spreading across his face. “We…we are in your debt,” he added, his voice breaking. “I believe we have funds enough to purchase what we need, but if you could recommend a trustworthy banker to exchange our gold and gems for the local coinage, it would be most appreciated. Someone to assist us in finding an appropriate property to purchase would be useful as well.”

“Hmph, simple enough,” Lord Turgon noted. “I assume you will be known by names other than your own.”

“Oh yes!” Kíli grinned, buoyant with relief and excitement. “We will be known as Naki and Jafi, cousins from the Blue Mountains, seeking new opportunities in your fair realm.”

The Lord Steward chuckled, “Indeed? Well then, Jafi and Naki, I bid you good fortune. And welcome to Gondor.”

-ooo-

It was early morning, and Dwalin rounded the corner closest to his office to be greeted by an unusual sight—the officer in charge of the night shift was pacing nervously outside his office door.

Relief crossed the dwarf’s face when he spotted his commander. “Lord Dwalin,” he cried, thank the Maker! I…she is waiting in the office. I didn’t know what else to do with her!”

“Calm down, Fjalar, who is ‘she’ and why is she in my office?”

“The Lady Dís, my lord, here to speak to you,” the younger dwarf explained, eyes wide. “I couldn’t leave her waiting in the hall!”

Dwalin sighed. It was probably too much to ask for a dwarf less than two centuries old to stand up to the King’s formidable sister. He wasn’t sure _he_ could and he’d known her all his life!

He pushed the door open and found Dís sitting at her ease in the chair across from the desk. She glanced up when he entered, raising one eyebrow inquiringly. Dwalin was certain that her arrival so early—well before he would be expected to be on duty—was not a coincidence.

“My Lady Dís, how may I serve you?” Dwalin asked, bowing slightly.

“Dwalin, my friend,” she replied with a tight smile. “I think it is time, and past time, we had a little chat.”

The bald dwarf narrowed his eyes and gazed at her appraisingly. He had always been on friendly terms with her during their years in Ered Luin, but since her arrival in Erebor some weeks ago she had barely spoken to him. Given the precariousness of the situation with Thorin, he had felt it best not to press for more.

“I am here, as I have always been, my lady,” he replied warily.

“I know, Dwalin.” She smiled a little sadly, “I hope you can excuse my caution, but under the circumstances I felt it would be prudent to take some time to evaluate your…loyalties before approaching you.”

Dwalin stiffened; was she here because Thorin suspected him of disloyalty? His face a careful blank he responded, “I am your brother’s man, as I have always been, my lady.”

“Yes, yes, I know that,” she replied, waving a hand dismissively. “But what I needed to decide was whether your loyalty was to Thorin alone, or to the line of Durin and the people of Erebor as well.”

Dwalin’s heart began beating hard, though he made certain his agitation was not visible on his face. Was she suggesting…? Finally, he said cautiously, “Perhaps you can explain how you feel those things are at odds, my lady.”

Dís pursed her lips, but rather than answering his question directly instead she commented, “Dwalin, besides your well-deserved reputation as a fearsome warrior, I have always found you to be thorough and efficient in your service to my brother. Which is why I think it so… _interesting_ that the search for my sons has been rather lacking your usual competence. One might even begin to think that your heart is not fully in it.” One eyebrow arched, “My brother has been too busy counting his gold to realize it, but I could not help but notice.”

The bald dwarf’s throat closed and his heart clenched, but he was able to keep his tone even when he asked, “Are you _threatening_ me, my lady?”

To his surprise, the question elicited what seemed to be a genuine laugh from the dwarrowdam. “Threatening you? Mahal no, Dwalin!” She reached over to clasp his hand, “I want to thank you for doing what you could to keep my boys safe. I know it must be a difficult dance for you, to search for them and not find them without raising Thorin’s suspicions.”

After a moment Dwalin’s shoulders relaxed and he blew out a long breath in relief— _this_ was the Dís he remembered—despite her deep love and loyalty for her brother, her sons had always held the first place in her heart. “Have you heard from the lads?” he asked quietly.

“I found a letter from the both of them pushed under my door one day before I left the Blue Mountains. It said they were alive and well, but nothing of where they were or where they planned to go.” Her voice broke, “It has been nearly three years since I have seen them, Dwalin, and Mahal only knows when or if I will lay eyes my sweet boys again.”

She fell silent, after a moment Dís met Dwalin’s eyes, giving him a challenging look, “Do _you_ know where they are?”

He shook his head, “No, and I think it best that I do not know. He shrugged, “I’m all but certain they had help from within the Company to make their escape, so if a time comes when we need to find them, I suspect we could.”

Dís gave a firm nod, “Good. Though when I do see them I’ll be tempted to beat them senseless for keeping me in the dark about what my brother was doing,” she growled.

Dwalin snorted, “I think they worried you’d burst in here to confront Thorin and put yourself in danger as well. And not without reason,” he added wryly.

“I…I know. They’re good lads,” she said softly.

“That they are. Fíli held up as bravely as could be expected under the circumstances, but I think it came to the point that Kíli could no longer bear to watch his brother suffer.”

They fell silent again until Dís said briskly, “Thanking you was only part of the reason for my visit. I wanted to let you know that if you can continue to shield them, I’ll help you as much as I can indirectly. Thorin will be immediately suspicious if I speak of them or ask about the search, but I’ll distract him with other matters to the greatest extent that I can.” She snorted, “He spends so much time in the treasury now he may soon forget about them entirely.”

Dwalin gazed at her pensively, “You know he’s mentioned naming Dáin as his heir.”

She sighed, “I know. And since Dáin is a gold-hungry fool who would gladly climb over my sons’ bleeding bodies to reach the throne, I’m certain he has been urging Thorin to do just that. I hate the idea, but it might turn out to be the best for Fíli and Kíli.”

The bald dwarf shook his head ruefully, “But not best for Erebor or its people, I’ll warrant.”

“One problem at a time, my friend,” Dís murmured. “One problem at a time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe it's mentioned somewhere in Tolkien's writings that Gandalf was welcome in Gondor when Ecthelion was Steward. So I'm working under the assumption that Denethor's distrust of Gandalf was an anomaly and that previous Stewards would welcome him and might even shelter a couple of dwarf princes if he asked them to!


	4. A Home to Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some glimpses of Fili and Kili's life in Minas Tirith, but a surprise visitor arrives who may change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I had planned to make this the last chapter, but I got kind of carried away thinking about the boys living in Minas Tirith. So...sorry? The next chapter will definitely be the last one. As always, comments are very welcome!

_5 years later…_

Dwalin sighed deeply as he took a seat behind his desk, depressed by the stacks of paperwork still littering the surface. Accepting the inevitable, he pulled one pile toward him, only to have his attention caught by a small piece of parchment folded neatly on top.

Curious, he unfolded it to find a few words written in what he immediately recognized as Nori’s neat runes. He snorted to himself, the thief was surely well aware that Dwalin recognized his hand—he strongly suspected that Nori enjoyed demonstrating how easily he could enter and leave Dwalin’s office in secret.

There were just five words on the parchment: _Jafi and Naki, Minas Tirith._

His eyes widened in surprise; Fíli and Kíli had shown more initiative than he expected, to flee so far from home and kin. Dwalin refolded the parchment and tucked it carefully into an inside pocket of his tunic.

It was time to bring the lads home.

-ooo-

Kíli was dragged toward wakefulness when the warm body in his arms stirred. Recognizing the signs that his lover was about to get up, he clutched tighter and whined sleepily, “Aww, Fee, no, don’t leave. It’s too early.”

Fíli chuckled and turned toward his brother, planting a soft kiss on his lips, “I have to, Kee. Prince Thengel is coming to pick up his blade this morning, and I want to make certain everything is ready.”

“You finished it days ago,” the brunet huffed. “You know it’s ready.”

“Humor me, love,” Fíli said soothingly, his breath ghosting over Kíli’s ear. “I promise I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

“You’d better!” Kíli retorted, reluctantly releasing his brother. Fíli laughed and stood, landing a brisk swat on the younger dwarf’s arse, earning an outraged squawk from him. “Fee! If I weren’t so tired, I’d…” he began, punctuating his claim with a yawn.

Fíli leaned close and kissed his temple, “That’s what you always say, _atamanel_.”

Kíli harrumphed to maintain his dignity, but fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Sometime later Kíli awoke and stretched, wondering whether Prince Thengel had arrived yet. After throwing on some clothes and raking his fingers through his hair (waking after his brother had the disadvantage that he had to tend to his hair himself) Kíli ambled into the kitchen. He smiled broadly to find that his brother had left out some breakfast for him.

When he clattered won the stairs to the forge a few minutes later, Kíli grinned at the sight before him. Two blond heads were bent over a shining blade, Fíli holding the sword and pointing out its features while Thengel looked on, eyes gleaming with excitement. The Rohirrim prince’s hair was paler, straw colored to Fíli’s gold, and he towered over the dwarf smith, but still, in spite of the differences Kíli had always felt there was a…kinship of sorts between the two. Certainly they had enjoyed each other’s company since they had first been introduced by Lord Ecthelion, despite the fact that Thengel had no idea that Fíli was a prince in exile as well.

As Kíli neared them, Fíli offered the sword to Thengel, hilt first, with a smile and a small bow. The Rohir took the sword, his eyes alight and a smile on his face as well.

His smile widened when he saw Kíli. “Ah, Master Naki, it is good to see you again.” He shook his head, “Your cousin has outdone himself! I expected a fine blade, but this…this is magnificent!”

Kíli glanced at his brother; Fíli’s face was slightly flushed, embarrassment at the praise clearly at odds with his (entirely justifiable in his brother’s opinion) pride in his handiwork.

Thengel murmured, “Such a fine, strong blade deserves a name to match it. I will have to think on it.” Then he moved away from the two dwarves; far enough to try a few practice strokes.

An idea appeared fully formed in Kíli’s mind, and determined to act on it, he remarked, “You must be eager to try out your blade with a worthy opponent, Prince Thengel.”

“Aye, I am,” Thengel answered with a huff of irritation. “But my father has commanded that I attend him in all haste and I am leaving this morning. That is why I called so early. I fear I will have to wait until I reach Edoras.” He glanced up to meet Kíli’s eyes and obviously recognized the hint of challenge there. “Unless _you_ are offering, my friend.”

Kíli shook his head, “I do well enough, but I am not the master swordsman here.”

“Kee!” Fíli hissed in exasperation.

The dark-haired dwarf just grinned brightly and strolled over to the chest where he knew his brother kept his twin falchions. “How long has it been since you sparred against a taller opponent, Fee? It wouldn’t do for you to get out of practice.”

“If you can wield a sword with anything like the skill you can craft one, Master Jafi, I would be honored to cross blades with you,” Prince Thengel said, bowing slightly.

After giving his brother a baleful look he replied politely, “Of course, my prince, I would be honored as well.” He grabbed the double scabbard from the younger dwarf and drew out one of the blades. “We have a small practice ring in the back if you’d like to…”

In the meantime Thengel had approached Fíli and was gazing at the scabbard curiously. “A double sheath? I have never seen the like before.” His eyes lit, “You use both swords in battle?”

“He certainly does,” Kíli said with a smile, “I doubt you’ll see a finer swordsman with twin blades in your lifetime.”

Fíli reddened to the tips of his ears and shot his brother a glance that promised retribution later. Kíli knew full well that the blond had planned to use one blade only when sparring with Thengel, long arguing that his fighting style was too distinctive and that it might reveal their identities. The brunet understood his wariness, at least at first, but now thought he was being overly cautious. It had been five years, for Mahal’s sake!

Kíli unsheathed the second blade and handed it to his brother, who took it reluctantly. “Here, Fee, I’m sure the Prince would prefer you not make it _too_ easy for him,” the brunet said with a chuckle.

“Indeed not!” Thengel agreed with a grin.

The older dwarf knew he was trapped, he could not refuse without it appearing peculiar and rude to their royal guest. “Of course,” Fíli replied graciously—but not without a final glare at this brother—and led Thengel to a small courtyard behind the building, bounded on one side by an alley.

Shortly after the dwarves had moved in they had drawn a sparring ring in the dirt of the yard behind the forge and began to practice there. At first, the sound of steel on steel was cause for some alarm among the nearby residents. But soon it was accepted as an interesting eccentricity of their dwarven neighbors, and now it was not unusual for a small crowd of onlookers to appear, hanging on the fence that bordered the yard as soon as the ring of steel could be heard.

Today was no different; soon after Thengel and Fíli strode into the ring, bowed and took their first tentative strokes, heads began to emerge from the windows overlooking the alley. Evidently word spread quickly that this bout was different than the usual matches between the dwarf cousins, and shortly the fence was lined with eager spectators. Kíli grinned to see money changing hands and ambled over to place a substantial bet on his ‘cousin’.

In the ring, Thengel was still testing the defenses of the blond dwarf. Naki’s praise of his cousin’s skill had made the prince wary, but he was confident he could prevail against an opponent so much smaller. However, when he pressed his attack, curious how Jafi would respond, he got much more than he bargained for.

For some reason the Rohirrim prince had always thought of dwarves as slow, heavy-footed creatures; now he realized he could not be more wrong. On the contrary, the dwarf was frighteningly fast, countering Thengel’s attacks casually and advancing, braids flying and blades flashing. He was soon retreating across the ring desperately trying to evade Jafi’s whirling swords. It was obvious that he had seriously underestimated his opponent—Thengel had never seen anyone who could use twin blades with such skill. To his alarm, the prince found that not only that he was required to block two blades instead of one, but the dwarf’s small stature meant that he must defend himself from attacks well below what he was accustomed to.

Thengel quickly understood that letting the dwarf engage him closely was not to his advantage. Instead, he retreated enough to use his much greater reach to keep the smith at arm’s length. He met Jafi’s blue eyes and received a smile in return; Béma curse him, he wasn’t the least winded!

They warily circled one another for a time, neither able to prevail. Thengel knew that he must take the initiative if he wished to defeat the dwarf, but was reluctant to close with him again. The matter was decided when what started as an unremarkable exchange of blows was followed by a lightning quick move from Jafi that brought him under Thengel’s guard. Sensing that defeat was imminent, the Rohir deliberately snarled his blade with the smith’s, and—deciding to use his greater size to his advantage—pushed with all his might.

The Rohirrim prince later said that he would have had more success trying to shift Mount Mindolluin from its foundations. As far as he could discern, the only immediate consequence of his efforts was that the blond dwarf’s eyes narrowed speculatively. Jafi’s heavy muscled arms bunched, and it was then Thengel understood the folly of challenging a dwarf in a test of strength, especially one who had spent the last five years with a smithing hammer in his hand. Before he had time to react he was falling, hitting the ground hard. A heavy dwarven boot planted itself on his sword arm and he looked up to see a blade at his throat. He chuckled ruefully, “I yield, master dwarf.”

The blade disappeared and Jafi extended a hand to help him up. Smiling genially, the smith remarked, “There is a reason why Men say that dwarves are born of stone, my friend. The Maker created us to endure.”

“That is one lesson I am not likely to forget,” Thengel replied, shaking his head with a smile.

The crowd of onlookers had roared when Thengel fell. Kíli was a bit surprised and gratified how many seemed to be cheering for Jafi, hoping that one of ‘their’ dwarves would defeat the tall horselord. Gleefully pocketing his winnings, he strolled over to join Thengel and Fíli.

“Next time I shall heed your words more carefully, Master Naki,” Thengel called as he approached.

“They were the result of long and painful experience, Prince Thengel,” Kíli chuckled.

“And has that experience enabled you to defeat him yourself?” Thengel asked dryly.

The brunet dwarf looked at little sheepish. “Well, my lord, Jafi and I are more or less evenly matched with one blade, but with two…” He shrugged, “I have bested him a few times in the last fifty years.”

Thengel gaped at him in shock—he knew that dwarves were longer lived than the race of Men, but it was hard to imagine that two such young-looking dwarves had been sparring together longer than he had been alive.

Clearly attempting to change the subject, the blond dwarf cleared his throat, “I hope you found the blade to your liking, Prince Thengel.”

“Oh, very much so!” Thengel replied earnestly. “Please be assured that I am not foolish enough to blame my defeat on the sword rather than the skill of the one who wields it.” He slid the sword back into its sheath. “But now I really must go, my father is awaiting me.”

“Of course,” Fíli said courteously, leading the prince back through the building to reach the street at the front. “Do you expect to stay in Rohan long?”

“That depends in part on my father,” he answered, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “But I must return before winter sets in,” Thengel added, flushing. “My wife and I are expecting another child, and she is due at the end of the year.”

Fíli’s face lit. “That is wonderful news! You have my heartiest congratulations; and you must give my best wishes to your lady wife.”

Thengel nodded happily, “I will certainly do so.” He thumped his hand against the hilt of his new sword. “And if it is a boy, I now have a blade worthy enough to bequeath to him when he is of age.”

The blond dwarf felt a lump form in his throat, “I am honored, my prince.” They clasped arms companionably, and Fíli watched as he rode away.

-ooo-

Kíli hummed to himself while he packed the bag he planned to take with him to the market. He had been working in his woodshop behind the forge all morning and was feeling a very un-dwarvish desire for some fresh air and sunshine.

It was a warm day, and when he entered the forge he noted with satisfaction that Fíli had decided to work shirtless. After taking a quick glance around to make sure that they were alone and that his brother was not in the midst of something it could be dangerous to interrupt, he slid his arms around Fíli’s waist from behind and buried his nose in his hair.

“Have I ever told you how much love seeing you like this, _nadad_?” he murmured.

Fíli turned in his arms and smiled before capturing his lips in a kiss. “Countless times, _nadadith_ , but that does not mean I’ll ever tire of it.” Noting Kíli’s bulging pack, the blond asked, “Where are you off to, Kee?”

“Just dropping off some new items with Bachron—toys, a few flutes and wood carvings. The usual. Is there anything you need done while I’m out?” the brunet asked between kisses.

“I repaired some items for Mistress Laereth, if you don’t mind dropping by the bakery on the way,” his brother replied with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

“Not in the least,” Kíli grinned, his already good mood improving markedly. This was turning into a fine day indeed!

Fíli indicated the items to be returned to the bakery, and as he was stowing them the younger dwarf asked, “Raithon’s not here today?” The blond had taken on an apprentice a few years earlier, a quiet, earnest boy who showed some promise to be a fine smith someday. He’d probably never be Fíli’s equal in weaponcraft, but that was to be expected.

“I sent him to Harlond to check the new shipment of iron stock,” Fíli explained. “He’ll be back this afternoon.”

When Kíli raised an eyebrow questioningly, his brother shrugged and smiled wryly. Judging the quality of stone, metal, and gems was easy and instinctive for dwarves, but had proven to be more of a problem for a child of Men. “He has to learn sometime if he’s to have his own forge someday.”

The brunet hoisted the bags on his shoulder and kissed his brother on the cheek, “I’m off, Fee, see you soon.”

Fíli snorted, “Be sure to bring _something_ home from the bakery this time, eh, Kee?”

“I’ll do my best!” his brother grinned and headed out the door.

When Kíli arrived at the bakery the shop girl, Neredis, smiled shyly at him and called, “Mistress Laereth, Naki is here to see you.”

Laereth, a gray-haired woman just a little taller than Kíli and twice as wide, bustled out of the back room and beamed at the dwarf. “Ah, Master Naki, a pleasure as always. I trust your cousin is well?” When Kíli assured her that he was indeed, she went on, “You’ll stay and have a bite.”

It was more a statement than an invitation, but Kíli didn’t mind. The brothers had learned long ago that the baker did things in her own way and her own time, and could not be rushed. Besides, there were some definite… _advantages_ to letting her have her way.

“Of course, my lady, I would be honored,” Kíli said gravely, pulling out a chair for her at a table near the window before seating himself.

“Ach, such good manners! Some of the young louts around here could learn from you and your cousin.” Shaking her head at the perceived failings of her own kind, she turned and called, “Neredis, some tea for our guest, and some of that strawberry tart as well.”

Presented with a cup of hot tea and a truly excellent strawberry tart, Kíli tucked in, letting Laereth’s chatter wash over him. Finally, one topic caught his attention, nearly causing him to choke on a bite. “I was just saying to my husband the other day,” Laereth began, fixing the dwarf with a penetrating look, “that it’s a shame that you and Jafi are still unmarried. ‘Polite’, I said, ‘hard workers, and easy on the eyes as well, despite being dwarves and all.’ Now, I don’t know what lady dwarves look for in a mate, but it seems to me that you two would be quite the catch.”

The brothers had decided when they had first arrived in Minas Tirith to keep the full extent of their relationship a secret. Love between males was fortunately not forbidden in Gondor, but neither was it practiced as openly as among dwarves. So far there had been no awkward questions on the topic, those who knew them most likely assuming that the lack of female dwarves was the reason for their bachelor lifestyle.

Consequently, the baker’s well-meaning inquiry caught Kíli off guard, and he struggled mightily to keep his features even. Oh, how he would enjoy recounting this conversation to Fíli later! When he could trust his voice again, he cleared his throat and replied, “It is most kind of you to say so, Mistress Laereth. But besides the unfortunate fact that there are no dwarrowdams here for us to court, my cousin and I still considered rather young to marry.” Which was certainly true, though Kíli chose not to mention that the traditional dwarven age for marriage was one hundred years.

“Hmph,” Laereth snorted, unimpressed. “I suppose you’ll just have to travel some place with lady dwarves eventually.” Evidently having decided it was time to conduct their business, she added, “I believe you have something for me.”

“Yes, of course,” Kíli smiled, and hauled out the pack with the items that had been repaired.

After carefully inspecting each one, she smiled, “Excellent work as usual, how much do I owe you?”

The dark-haired dwarf firmly suppressed a grin; their interactions had developed into a definite pattern over the years, and he knew very well what was expected of him. “Oh, no, Lady Laereth,” he replied, his most sincere expression on his face, “Jafi insists it was but a few moments’ work and no payment is necessary.”

She feigned surprise, “No payment? It beats me how you two stay in business. Would you take something home with you at least? We have some lovely meat pies fresh out of the oven.”

When Kíli left the bakery a few minutes later, it was with a spring in his step, enough meat pies for their supper, and a few more strawberry tarts as well. His next stop was Bachron’s shop in the market square. When the two dwarves moved into this area on the third level, they hit upon a simple solution to the problem of introducing their wares—and themselves—to the local Gondorians. They came to an arrangement with Bachron, a respected local merchant, to sell some of their products through his shop for a substantial commission. He had also agreed to refer customers who needed repairs or more specialized items like weapons directly to the dwarves.

At first the residents were wary of their strange new neighbors, but over time they proved themselves to be friendly, polite, and generous in the use of their skills to benefit the community. When Fíli took a local boy in as an apprentice, it did much to ease their concerns, as did the fact that Lord Ecthelion and others of Minas Tirith nobility were seen to prize their work. But what finally convinced many of their value as neighbors was the capture of some thieves who had been preying on merchants in the area. The thieves were foolish enough to target the dwarves’ smithy, and found to their regret that dwarven fists were as hard and unforgiving as the iron they forged.

Kíli entered Bachron’s shop and began unpacking his wares with a cheerful grin at the proprietor. But before he could speak Bachron hailed him from behind the counter. “Naki, what luck—you just missed a fellow who was asking for you.”

The brunet dwarf glanced up, puzzled, “Who was it?”

The shopkeeper shook his head, “Didn’t know him, but I think he was a dwarf—either a tall dwarf or a short man. I didn’t see much of his face, he kept his hood pulled up over his eyes. He asked for you and your cousin by name, so I gave him directions to the forge.”

For a moment it felt as if Kíli’s heart had stopped beating altogether. He tried to steady himself against the counter but his hands were shaking. “When?” he demanded hoarsely. “Was he alone?”

Bachron eyed him in concern, it was readily apparent that something was wrong. “I…I just saw the one, but I suppose there could have been more waiting outside the shop. He was just here a few minutes ago; I’m surprised you didn’t cross paths.”

“I came from the bakery,” Kíli explained, trying to set his thoughts in order. “Mahal help me, Fee is alone!” he whispered harshly. Hurriedly setting the items he was carrying on the counter, he found the merchant’s eyes and said, “I’ll be back for these if I can,” before bolting out the door.

“Naki, what is it?” Bachron cried in alarm. “What is amiss?”

With no time or inclination for explanations, Kíli started back to the forge as fast as his legs could carry him and prayed he was not too late. He had one advantage over their mystery visitor; he knew the fastest way home through alleys and yards, while Bachron was sure to have sent the dwarf by the easiest route down the main thoroughfare.

He emerged from the side alley closest to the forge and immediately spotted the dwarf that the merchant had described, just a few yards away cautiously approaching the building’s door. Kíli’s breath rasped in his throat as he bit back a sob of dismay—he _knew_ that back, that gait—it could be no other. Thoughts of Fíli alone and unprotected spurred him to action. The dwarf had just begun to turn at the sound of his footsteps when the young dwarf was upon him. Between one breath and the next the larger dwarf’s back was slammed against the stone of the building, Kíli’s left arm held tight across his throat and with his right, a knife pressed under his ear.

“Don’t move,” Kíli ground out. “I would prefer not to kill you, but I will if I must.” He looked up into the face of a dwarf that he and his brother had once considered a friend and mentor; but also their mad uncle’s closest friend and confidante.

Dwalin had started to struggle against his assailant, but relaxed when he recognized Kíli. “Kíli, lad, thank Mahal I’ve found you!” He shook his head, “Now don’t you go doing anything rash, I’m just here to talk.”

“You are _not_ taking us back,” Kíli said fiercely, pressing his arm tighter against the bald dwarf’s throat for emphasis.

“Kíli, I trained you and your brother,” Dwalin replied, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “I know better than to think I could drag you lads back to Erebor all by myself.”

The brunet snorted, “There could be a dozen others beyond the gates waiting for you to lure us out.”

The big dwarf sighed, “I understand your caution, but on my honor I’m just here to speak to you and Fíli. Please hear me out; there are some things you need to know. Afterward, I’ll leave you here in peace if that is your wish.” His voice fell and he added, “Lad, I have a letter from your mother.”

Kíli briefly closed his eyes, heart clenching. Dwalin _seemed_ sincere, and he wanted to trust him… But before he could decide what to do, he heard his name called. He turned to see Bachron approaching, accompanied by several other men from the neighborhood.

“Naki,” the merchant called again, “is this villain threatening you? You left in such a hurry, I thought you might need some help.” Bachron glared suspiciously at Dwalin, “Should we call out the guard?”

Knowing that Dwalin would not attempt to overpower him in front of so many witnesses, he fixed the bald dwarf with a hard look before releasing him. “No, Bachron,” he replied. “It is very kind of you, but that won’t be necessary. It was a…misunderstanding.

At that moment more men joined them, this time two uniformed city guards. “Master Naki!” one called, and Kíli hurried to join him. “My apologies,” the senior guard murmured, his voice pitched low. “I know there is a standing order to interrogate any dwarves seeking entrance into the city, but there was an accident at the gate and that fellow,” he nodded in Dwalin’s direction, “slipped by and was lost in the crowd before we could stop him. Do you wish him to be detained?”

Kíli pondered for a moment before replying. “No, that won’t be necessary. But if you could have one of your men keep an eye on his movements while he’s in the city, I would appreciate it.”

The guard nodded his understanding and they returned to their duties. Kíli then sent Bachron and the other men home with his heartfelt thanks, promising to retrieve his belongs soon. When they were alone again Dwalin remarked dryly, “I can see now why our inquiries here turned up nothing and trade caravans have reported a less-than-friendly welcome of late.”

The younger dwarf shrugged, “Lord Turgon has been…sympathetic to our situation.”

“It seems you’ve made some friends among these Men as well,” the big dwarf snorted. “But I suppose with none of your own kind around you had to make the best of a bad situation.”

The look Kíli gave him in response was frosty, “These _Men_ welcomed us and treated us as friends. Fíli and I have been safe and happy here, which is more than I can say for when we last lived among our own kind.” Dwalin’s eyes fell, and after a moment Kíli continued, “I am willing to trust you for now. What is it that you need to tell us?”

Dwalin glanced up, “I’d prefer to tell you both at once, if possible. He gazed at Kíli anxiously. “Fíli is here, is he not? Is he… _well_?”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Kíli couldn’t suppress the grin that crossed his face, “See for yourself.” He opened the door to the smithy and motioned Dwalin inside.

When they entered Fíli was absorbed in his work and unable to hear them over the sound of his hammer, so they were able to watch him for a time unobserved. Dwalin had last seen the blond prince more than five years earlier; then he had been pale and thin, eyes haunted by Thorin’s abuse. There was no trace of that dwarf now. His hair and beard were longer and fuller than before, and he had abandoned his distinctive braided mustache. The other changes were more dramatic; eyes clear and bright, skin golden where it had been pale, with heavily corded muscles across his bare arms and chest attesting to the benefits of years at the forge.

In Kíli’s admittedly biased opinion, he looked _magnificent_ , the realization of the great promise he had shown as a dwarfling—Thorin’s golden heir. Dwalin clearly agreed, he exhaled loudly, his shoulders slumped in relief, head bowed. “Thank Mahal,” he breathed.

The brunet stepped closer and called Fíli’s name, raising his voice to be heard over the hammer strokes. The blond paused and glanced up, a smile on his face for his beloved brother. When his eyes fell on the newcomer, he froze, face pale.

Dwalin strode forward until he was within a few paces of elder prince and to the brothers’ astonishment, dropped to one knee. Right hand clutched to his chest, he met Fíli’s eyes and spoke, “Fíli, son of Dís, rightful King Under the Mountain, your people have need of you. You are called home to claim the throne of Erebor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful artist faerytale-wings has done several drawings of a shirtless Fili at the forge which closely matches how I'd envisioned him. (Mine has no tattoos, but otherwise...) Here's a link to her lovely drawings, used with permission:
> 
> http://faerytale-wings.tumblr.com/post/95858511322/forge-fili-compilation-picture-should-i-make-one


	5. A Weighty Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin explains why he has come and the brothers must make a life-changing decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have *got* to stop saying that the next chapter is going to be last one--so I'm not saying it this time, even though I think it might be true. This chapter is *very* dialog-heavy, but I didn't know how else to have Dwalin explain what has happened in Erebor. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

Both princes stared at the older dwarf in shock until Kíli, distraught that his brother might think he was aware of Dwalin’s intentions, sputtered, “Fee, I knew nothing of this, I swear! He just told me he needed to speak to us!”

Fíli grasped his arm comfortingly, “Don’t worry, I believe you, Kee.” He turned his attention back to the older dwarf and said simply, “Thorin?”

Dwalin closed his eyes briefly and said softly, “He’s dead, lads, some three months ago. An accident—seems he took a bad fall one night on the way to the treasury.”

The two princes gazed at him in surprise and bewilderment, unable to comprehend how a towering personality like their uncle’s could be brought low by something as mundane as simple misfortune.

“An _accident_?” Kíli repeated incredulously.

The bald dwarf shrugged, “Aye, it surprised us too, but there was no evidence that it was anything but an unfortunate mishap.”

Fíli took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, feeling a tug of pain in his chest—both grief and relief at the thought of his uncle’s passing. But those feelings must wait, he knew. “However he died, why come for me? Gandalf told us Thorin named Dáin as his heir.”

Dwalin snorted, “I knew that old meddler had a hand in your escape.” The two younger dwarves just gazed at him coolly so he sighed and continued, “It’s a long tale, and I’ve come a long way to tell it. Could we sit and have bite and a mug of something while I explain?”

Fíli and Kíli exchanged a glance and blond nodded, “We can. We live just upstairs.”

They quickly locked the smithy door and led the older dwarf through Kíli’s workroom to reach the stairs to their living quarters. “I see you two have been keeping busy,” Dwalin remarked, noting the different items visible there, including arrows and bows in varying stages of completion.

“Lord Ecthelion appreciates good dwarf work,” Kíli answered with a hint of pride in his voice. “He’s the Lord Steward’s son. The Ithilien Rangers all use bows,” he explained. “Mostly longbows, though he’s commissioned some shortbows from me for mounted work. Prince Thengel of Rohan has a fine sword of Fíli’s already, and he’s been eying my bows as well—the Rohirrim are all mounted, as you know.”

The bald dwarf shook his head, “You’ve made a good life for yourselves here, lads, I can see that.”

Fíli nodded, “Aye, we have. So you’ll need to convince us why we should give it up for whatever awaits us in Erebor.”

“I’ll do my best,” Dwalin answered somberly.

A short while later Kíli had retrieved his belongings from Bachron’s shop and Fili’s apprentice, Raithon, had arrived and been sent home for the day. After eating the three dwarves sat down to a mug of ale in the princes’ rooms over the smithy.

Dwalin took a long drink of his ale before beginning. “You’re right, Fíli, Thorin did proclaim Dáin and his whelp Stonehelm as his heirs when it became clear you lads would not be found. But what you must understand is that to be able to do so he had to declare you dead, since you two have a better claim to the throne than Dáin. As long there was a chance you were alive there would be doubt, don’t you see. But of course he had the slight problem of no bodies to prove it,” the big dwarf added dryly.

“So he concocted a story—or Dáin might have, I wasn’t privy to the discussion—that you both had been seen wandering into the old mine workings and must have fallen to your deaths. It explained why no remains had been found and got him what he wanted; a clear path to naming Dáin as the Crown Prince.”

Kíli glanced over to meet his brother’s eyes; Fíli was looking as incredulous as he felt. The brunet barked out a laugh, “People _believed_ that?”

Dwalin snorted, “A few of the most dim-witted might have, but in the main, no. Your mother and the Company held fast to the hope that you were alive and well somewhere, though we all knew better than to say so aloud. As for the rest, well, I’d guess that opinions were evenly divided between those who thought that Thorin had quietly disposed of you, and those who decided that Dáin had done so with the King’s consent.”

Fíli choked on a mouthful of ale and gasped, “Really?”

The bald dwarf nodded, “Aye, Even though Thorin was still respected and admired for reclaiming Erebor from the dragon, many of the choices he had made since then in the throes of the gold sickness have not been what I’d call ‘wise’ or ‘popular’. And Dáin…” Dwalin blew out a long breath before continuing. “At first it was believed that susceptibility to the gold sickness was confined to the line of Thrór. Now it is clear that is not the case, since Dáin and his son have succumbed to it as Thorin did, while you two did not.” He met Fíli’s eyes, “The people of Erebor have seen enough of Dáin to believe that he might well…arrange your deaths if he thought it would gain him the throne.

“But when Thorin died there was an unexpected stoke of luck. Even though Dáin was spending much of his time in the Mountain, when Thorin’s body was discovered he had returned to the Iron Hills for a while.” He smiled, “Your mother had been advising Thorin, trying to soften the effects of his most troublesome decisions, so she was the logical choice to serve as regent until a new king could be crowned. You know your mum—she made the most of the opportunity and was able to show the King’s Council evidence to suggest that you two had not perished after all. Between your better blood claim to the throne and the fact that a good half of the Council are members of the Company, it was not difficult to convince them you should be offered the throne first. A proclamation was issued declaring that you two have a year to return to claim the throne. If you do not, or cannot, Dáin inherits.”

Kíli snorted, “I can’t imagine Cousin Dáin was too happy with that.”

The big dwarf chuckled, “He was not, and neither was Stonehelm. But by the time he returned from the Iron Hills, the deed was done.”

“But why would anyone want _me_ as king—someone who has run away and abandoned his responsibilities?” Fíli demanded with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Kíli stared at his brother in surprise—he had never suspected that Fíli felt that way. He clasped the blond’s arm and said earnestly, “Fee, no one could expect you to stay to be abused by Thorin. I know you would never have agreed to leave if there was any other choice.”

Dwalin nodded, “Aye, lad. Anyone seeing you now would know that you getting away from your uncle was the best thing that could have happened. Few who have lived under Thorin’s rule would question that you had good reason to flee. I also think you are underestimating how fondly you both are remembered by the people of Erebor. Not to mention,” he continued with a wry twist of his lips, “Dáin has made few friends in Erebor with his support of Thorin’s unpopular policies. And Stonehelm…” Dwalin snorted, “Thorin made him the crown’s representative to the guilds and according to Bofur, the miners are all but ready to rebel. Only Dáin’s staunchest supporters—which are few in number, thank Mahal—will feel inclined to question the ‘hows’ and ‘whys’ of your surprising return, especially if it will prevent your cousin from taking the crown.”

The two princes fell silent, trying to comprehend all that they had heard.

Recognizing their uncertainty, Dwalin added, “I’ve told you all I can and I know it’s a lot to consider.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a sealed parchment from an inner pocket, “Maybe this will help you make sense of it."

He held a letter out for Fíli to take and the blond gasped softly when he recognized the writing, his hand shaking slightly as he reached for it.

“From Mum?” Kíli asked, his voice soft. His brother nodded and broke the seal on the parchment, holding it so the brunet could read it as well.

_My darling boys:_

_Words cannot express how much I love you both, how much I miss you and long to see you again. My deepest regret these past few years—besides my shame that I did not protect you from Thorin’s madness—is that I could not do more than send the occasional letter and hear secondhand word of how you fare. But alas, the risk was too great._

_By now Dwalin must have told you that Thorin is dead. I’m sure you will understand when I say I feel both bowed down by grief and buoyed with relief in equal parts. I loved my brother dearly, but could not love what he became and I have come to see his death as a release for Erebor, and ultimately for himself as well. I can only hope Mahel restores him to the great and noble dwarf he once was._

_Now that he is gone, I pray that you will consider returning to Erebor. I will not pretend that this desire is completely selfless; there is a hole in my heart that will not be filled unless I see you both again before I die._

_But I do not exaggerate when I say that Erebor needs you now as never before. The kingdom is restored, yes, but I can see clearly that its great promise has been squandered by Thorin’s greed and mistrust of other races. I have no doubt that if Dáin takes the throne he will only repeat your uncle’s mistakes._

_Fíli, it is more than a mother’s pride when I say that with Kíli at your side, you could be the ruler that the kingdom needs, and the one it deserves. You could lift the curse of the gold sickness and help Erebor become known as much for its goodness and generosity as for its hoarded riches. However, it is truly your choice whether to take up this burden—for that it will surely be—or decide that the dwarves of Erebor have taken too much from you already. In truth, you owe them nothing—you owe_ me _nothing. Stay and be happy if that is your wish; I will love you and support you none the less._

_Mahal’s blessings upon both._

_All my love, Dís_

After finishing the letter the brothers stood silent, eyes glistening with tears, seeking comfort from one another.

Kíli cleared his throat and whispered, “Dwalin, _could_ we go back? If Fíli decides that he doesn’t want to be king, I mean. To see Mum and our friends again?”

Dwalin sighed. “I’m sorry lad,” he told them regretfully, “I don’t think that would be wise. Perhaps you could in a few years when Dáin’s rule is more established, but I think if you showed up now he’d see you as a threat.”

Fíli nodded as if he expected no other answer. He met the bald dwarf’s eyes, “I…I think Kíli and I need some time to talk it over.” He glanced at this brother and at his nod of agreement, he added, “We should have a decision for you in the morning.”

That evening when the older dwarf had departed for an inn, the brothers lay together in silence. Finally, Kíli tightened his arms around his brother and murmured, “Talk to me, _âzyungel_ , you’re thinking so hard it must hurt.”

Fíli chuckled and kissed his lover, shaking his head ruefully. “I don’t know what to think, Kíli. I…I love our life here. I love _being_ here with you. This is the happiest I’ve been since we were dwarflings and I had no idea what it meant to be Thorin’s heir. I would be happy to spend the rest of my life here with you…”

“But…” his brother prompted.

“I miss our friends. I miss _Mum_ ,” Fíli told him with a deep sigh. “The Men here have been very kind, but I miss being among other dwarves.” He ran a hand through his blond mane, “However, going back means taking on a responsibility that I don’t feel at all prepared for. Am I _truly_ what Erebor needs to prosper and its people thrive? I suspect that Dwalin would exaggerate or outright lie about conditions in the Mountain if he decided that it’s best to keep Dáin off the throne.”

Kíli nodded, “Aye, I think you’re right, he would.” Then after a moment’s hesitation he added, “But Mum wouldn’t.” His voice fell to a whisper, “You know I agree with her—I have never doubted you would be a great king.”

“But what do _you_ want, _atamanel_?” the blond asked plaintively. “I can’t just decide for the both of us!” He sat up and rubbed his eyes before continuing, his face strained. “Do…do _you_ want to be king? After all, it’s just an accident of birth that I am Crown Prince.”

Kíli stared at him in astonishment before sputtering, “Fíli, have you gone daft? Of course not!” he added indignantly. His voice softened and he cupped his brother’s chin in his hand, “From the first moment I understood what it meant that we are Thorin’s heirs I have _never_ wanted to be king. Because, you blithering idiot, I knew it meant that I would have lost _you_. No throne is worth that.” He smiled, “I miss Mum and our friends too, but only you can decide whether you wish to take this on.” Kíli pulled his brother into his arms, “Whatever you chose I will be at your side, _âzyungel_ , as it should be. _”_

Eyes brimming with tears, Fíli kissed his brother fiercely. Their caresses soon grew heated and they came together, making love like it was to be the last time. Finally they fell asleep entwined together on the bed.

Kíli woke as the first shaft of light fell on the bed, opening his eyes to find his brother already sitting up and looking contemplative. Noticing that the brunet had awakened, Fíli turned and smiled, murmuring, “Good morning _atamanel_ ,” He cleared his throat, “Kíli, I…I think we should request a meeting with Lord Turgon this morning. To thank him for his hospitality and explain that we are returning to Erebor.”

-ooo-

Lord Turgon shook his head, his eyes bright with interest, “Quite a tale, Prince Fíli. Do you have any assurance that this is more that a story designed to lure you back to Erebor? You did say that this Dwalin was your uncle’s man…err…dwarf.”

The blond nodded, “We considered that possibility as well. But he brought with him a letter in our mother’s own hand that confirms his account.” The Lord Steward nodded his understanding and Fíli continued, “With the king dead, I cannot in good conscience neglect my responsibilities any longer.” Kíli made a noise of protest, giving his brother an exasperated look, but did not interrupt. “I am _told_ ,” Fíli added wryly, “that the people of Erebor need me and would welcome me as their king. I must return if I am to determine the truth of that.”

The Steward smiled, “For what it’s worth, I have no doubt you will make a fine king, if that is to be your fate, especially with such a strong arm and loyal heart at your side. You and your brother have certainly repaid our trust many times over.”

Fíli met his eyes gravely, “Know that we will never forget your kindness and that of the people of Minas Tirith in our time of need. If the crown comes to me, rest assured that in peace or war, the friendship and aid of the Lonely Mountain is yours to call upon.”

Turgon exchanged a pleased glanced with his son; despite the distance between the two realms, the benefits of having the wealthiest and most powerful dwarf kingdom in Middle Earth as an ally were not to be underestimated. “That would be most welcome,” the Gondorian replied with a smile. “When do you expect to leave?”

“As soon as we can settle our affairs here,” Fíli told him. “A few days at most. However, there is a small matter that you could assist us with.” He cleared his throat, “I have an apprentice, a local lad named Raithon. He is a year away from completing his training, and I hope to find another smith in the city who is willing to take over his apprenticeship. I wish the smithy to be held in trust and turned over to him when he has completed it.”

“That is simple enough to accomplish,” Turgon assured him. “The royal scribe can record the arrangement. Have you set a price for the property?”

“That will not be necessary,” Fíli replied. “It is to be a gift.”

The Steward’s eyes widened, “That is very generous of you. A fully outfitted smithy is not without value.

The blond prince chuckled, “We return to claim a mountain full of gold, or… _not_. In either case I do not believe we will be returning anytime soon.”

The dwarves were readying themselves to leave, but Lord Ecthelion surprised them by requesting that they stay a little while longer, and pulling his father aside for a private conversation.

Whatever the discussion was about, it was clearly unexpected by Lord Turgon, and some persuasion from his son was required before the Steward turned back to the two princes. “Well,” he began, one eyebrow raised, “it seems my son wishes to accompany you to Erebor to see you crowned, Prince Fíli.”

Before his brother could speak, Kíli squeaked in surprise, “Really? _Why_?” He reddened and quickly added, “Not that you are unwelcome, of course.”

Lord Ecthelion smiled, “Let’s just say I’ve developed a new appreciation of dwarven crafts and culture. It will also be a unique opportunity to discuss trade and other mutually beneficial arrangements between our peoples.” His smile widened into a grin and he shrugged, “I’d rather not lose our source of dwarven weaponry and I’d like to see this mountain of yours.”

Fíli shook his head, his eyes alight, “As long as you understand that we are not completely certain what awaits us in the Mountain, you are welcome to join us.”

The Steward’s heir and the dwarves set a time the next day to discuss their journey. As the princes departed, Kíli whispered to his brother, “Dwalin is going to hate having _Men_ travel with us.”

The blond grinned in response, “I know.”

The next day all three dwarves met with Lord Ecthelion to plan their journey. Between the man’s knowledge of the regions near Gondor and Dwalin’s recent experience traveling from Erebor, they were able to map a route they all felt would be relatively safe and efficient. At the end of the meeting Fíli asked the Gondorian to stay and speak with him privately. He seemed surprised, but agreed.

When the others had departed Fili began, “Lord Ecthelion…” He paused, looking uncertain.

Curious what this might be about and hoping to put the dwarf at ease, the man smiled, “We will be traveling together for quite some time—please call me Ecthelion.”

The anxiety apparent on Fíli’s face lightened somewhat and he replied, “Of course, please call me Fíli, and I’m certain Kíli would say the same.” He cleared his throat. “It is the journey I wished to speak of; if we are to be in each other’s company for such a long time there are…things it is best you know.”

Ecthelion nodded, his brow furrowing with interest, “Indeed; please continue.”

“It is something dwarves seldom speak of to outsiders,” Fíli said solemnly. “Hear me out and I think you will understand why.” He took a deep breath, “My people believe that when the Maker created us—Aulë as you name him—each was created with a soul that was half of a whole. That there is… _another_ in this world that holds the other half. This is seen as both a gift and a burden; to find the one that completes us can bring the kind of love and joy that few experience, but failing to find that other dooms one to a life incomplete.”

Ecthelion had no idea why Fíli felt it was necessary to give him give him this information, but he was fascinated nonetheless. He had never suspected that a race as seemingly practical as the dwarves were such… _romantics_. “Go on,” he murmured.

“As you may know, far fewer female dwarves are born than males, and consequently love relationships between males are more commonplace than among Men. There is no stigma associated with such relationships as there is frequently for your race.”

The Steward’s son nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“The rarity of females is one reason for this acceptance, but not the only reason. You must understand that a dwarf’s soulmate, their _One_ as we name it, can as easily be the same gender as the opposite. And although it is relatively rare, on occasion a dwarf can find their One among close kin. Regardless, the bond is considered sacred and under normal circumstances any attempt to keep such a couple apart is unthinkable.” Fíli met his eyes with a soft smile on his face, “I count myself fortunate; many search their entire lives for their one, true love, but I have known mine since I was old enough to understand what it meant.”

The Gondorian blinked, trying to process what Fíli was telling him. A male… Close kin… His eyes widened and he whispered, “ _Kíli_?” He had certainly witnessed the deep affection between the two dwarves, but he had never suspected _this_.

The blond nodded, “Aye. I know most men would consider such a relationship between brothers to be vile and evil, which is why I felt I should warn you.” He chuckled ruefully, “Having to conceal our love for each other from you for months while traveling together would be impractical—not to mention extremely annoying. However, if you feel that knowing this you cannot in good conscience associate with us, we will understand.”

“The other dwarf—Dwalin—knows of this?” Ecthelion asked, in part to give himself more time to think.

“Oh, aye,” Fíli assured him. “It is known and accepted among our friends and family. If I take the crown, Kíli will be my consort as well as my heir.”

Ecthelion’s mind was working furiously, and it went back to the mysterious, never specified reasons for the two princes leaving Erebor. If their uncle had tried to separate them it would explain their flight, but Fíli had spoken as if their relationship was long known and accepted. He sighed to himself, unable to make sense of it. Meanwhile, the dwarf prince was waiting anxiously for a response.

With an effort, Ecthelion suppressed his instinctual revulsion at the idea of brothers lying together, telling himself firmly that if he was to deal in good faith with the dwarves of Erebor he must accept that their customs were different than those of Men, and those of Gondor. Besides, he had come to like and respect the dwarf princes in the years of their acquaintance and found it impossible to think of them as truly evil. He straightened resolutely; it would take some time to fully come to terms with this news, but in the end, who was really hurt by their love and devotion to each other?

He met Fíli’s eyes and smiled, “If your own people do not judge you ill because of this, who I am to do so?”


	6. Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili and Kili's return to Erebor is joyful, but not without complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I had a couple of other stories to update. We're getting near the end now, just another chapter or two.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

The two dwarves informed a few of their acquaintances of their imminent departure, and word soon spread. The princes found themselves inundated with well-wishers and more food than they could possibly eat or take with them. The official explanation for leaving Gondor was that they were called home in preparation for the crowning of the new king; a tale that invariably had Kíli trying to conceal his mirth. Fili’s young apprentice, Raithon, was particularly affected by their announcement, and upon learning that the dwarf smith planned to gift the forge to him, declared teary-eyed the blond dwarf to be the kindest and most generous master an apprentice could wish for.

But finally the day came, and the dwarves rode out of the gates of the city accompanied by three men; Lord Ecthelion and two Ithilien Rangers who would serve as the heir’s guards on the journey. Ecthelion assured Fíli that they were seasoned veterans and practical men more interested in successfully accomplishing their assigned task than worrying about sleeping arrangements.

The most direct route from Minas Tirith to Erebor was not a desirable one, leading as it did through the dangerous and inhospitable lands north and west of the Black Gates. Instead, they headed west along the Great West Road before cutting north into the East Emnet of Rohan, skirting the hills of the western Emyn Muil. This first part of their journey was uneventful; the presence of Lord Ecthelion was enough to convince the Rohirrim patrols to let them proceed uncontested.

After three weeks of travel they put the rocky hills of the Emyn Muil behind them and struck east toward the Anduin. They camped one night near a shallow, rocky, westward bend in the river—the South Undeep—with the intention of crossing in the morning.

The travelers were sitting companionably by the fire when Fíli remarked, “I seem to recall there is some history associated with this location—a battle, perhaps?”

Ecthelion’s eyebrows rose, “Indeed, yes, more than one. These shallows and the one to the north—the North Undeep—have often provided a crossing for invaders from the east and many battles have been fought here. Probably the most famous is the Battle of the Celebrant, which took place just ten leagues or so from where we are sitting. Some 400 years ago Eorl the Young rode south to the aid of Gondor, appearing to turn the tide when our battle with Easterling invaders was all but lost.” He smiled, “Thus winning the gratitude of Lord Steward Cirion and earning the lands of Rohan as a reward.”

Fíli blew out a stream of pipe smoke and smiled in return, “Memorable indeed.” He looked contemplative for a moment and glanced at his brother. “That puts me in mind of a more recent battle site—just 150 years ago the Battle of Azanulzibar was fought not far from here. I would give much to see it someday.”

“I do not believe I have heard tell of it,” Ecthelion murmured.

“You might know it by another name,” Kíli explained, “The elves call it the Battle of Nanduhirion, after the elvish word for the vale below the east gate of Khazad-dum, where it was fought.”

“Of course!” the Gondorian exclaimed. “A terrible battle, but a victory for your people, if I recall correctly.”

Fíli sighed, “A victory, yes, but at enormous cost; it is a source of great pride and sorrow both for my kin.” He shook his head, “Those that survived seldom speak of it.”

The Steward’s son blinked in surprise, “You _know_ some such?”

The older prince chuckled, “As do you.” He glanced over his shoulder at Dwalin, standing watch just out of earshot. “Dwalin fought at Azanulzibar, as did his brother and our uncle Thorin. My great-grandfather Thrór and Thorin’s younger brother were among those slain there.”

Ecthelion cast a furtive glanced at the big dwarf; scared, tattooed and looking every inch the warrior. He wondered what it would be like to live so long and survive such momentous events. If asked, would the scowling dwarf count those years worth the cost?

Once the river was behind them, the travelers soon saw the eaves of Mirkwood looming to the north. Although it necessitated missing both Rivendell and Beorn’s home, the route they had chosen had the distinct advantage of avoiding crossing either the mountains or Mirkwood. Indeed, more quickly than they expected the Lonely Mountain became visible in the distance as they turned northeast. A day came when a raven found them, landing on Dwalin’s arm and squawking impatiently. The bald dwarf sent it back to Erebor with the news that the two princes were returning—with company.

“What kind of reception should we expect?” Kíli asked anxiously when the reply came a few days later, fully prepared to turn their ponies around if the answer suggested that Fíli was at risk.

“There been no change to speak of since I left, according to my brother,” Dwalin told him. “Dáin is not happy with the delay, but he’s counting on you two to either not be found or to be unwilling or unfit for the throne. I told Balin to keep our arrival to himself for now, and to send a trustworthy escort to meet us near Esgaroth.”

Fíli snorted, “Well, ‘fit’ has yet to be determined, but at least we’re here and willing enough.”

“Don’t be daft, Fee,” Kíli replied indignantly. “Except for Dáin and his lackeys, they’ll be glad to have you, and well they should.”

“Time will tell,” Fíli murmured softly, his eyes turning to the mountain in the distance.

A week later when they could see Long Lake glimmering in the sun a small group of riders approached, carrying a banner showing the crown and anvil symbol of the line of Durin. Anticipating this meeting, Lord Ecthelion had instructed his men to unfurl their own banner emblazoned with the White Tree of Gondor.

Leading the oncoming dwarves was a familiar white-bearded figure; it was Balin, looking a bit older but clearly pleased and excited by the princes’ return. They all dismounted, the old dwarf embracing the dwarf travelers in turn, declaring, “It does my old heart good to see you lads. It seems that something has finally gone right for Erebor and its people.”

Kíli was still unhappy with Balin, feeling that both he and Dwalin could have done more to protect Fíli from Thorin. But it was hard to stay angry in the face of Balin’s high spirits, and the brunet grinned in response in spite of himself.

When Fíli introduced Lord Ecthelion, Balin, ever the diplomat, greeted the Gondorian warmly and asked several shrewd questions about trade in the southern kingdom.

Soon they were remounted and on their way to Erebor, and Fíli found himself riding next to Balin. After making certain the Men were out of earshot, the blond asked him quietly, “How will it be taken that the Steward of Gondor’s heir has accompanied us?”

The white-haired dwarf chuckled, “Truthfully, some will be outraged. Dáin, for one, will certainly not be pleased since he is in favor of continuing Thorin’s policies of restricting trade and contact with other races. But since those policies serve to fatten the royal treasury at the expense of the merchants and craftsmen of Erebor, the trade guilds will be ecstatic. Especially if it means that Lord Ecthelion is willing to negotiate favorable trade agreements between our two realms.”

“Oh, he is,” Fíli grinned. “It seems he has developed a taste for dwarven weaponry and he has all of Gondor’s army to equip.”

“That’ll be welcome.” Balin gave Fíli a curious look, “Why did you agree to have him come if you were unsure how it would be received?”

The blond prince shrugged, “Lord Ecthelion is a good and noble man, and he and his father have been exceptionally kind to Kíli and me. I could not in good conscience refuse. “Besides,” he added, his voice hardening, “I’d rather start as I mean to go on as king. If the people of Erebor want another Thorin Oakenshield, they’d best be looking elsewhere.”

Balin shook his head, “I loved your uncle like a brother, as well you know. But it is time—and past time—for a change.” He smiled, looking suspiciously misty-eyed, “You’ll do fine, lad, and I’d be proud to spend the rest of my days serving you, if you’ll have me.”

-ooo-

On a fine fall morning a few days later they came to gates of Erebor. Kíli rode close by his brother, reaching over occasionally to offer the reassurance of touch, something he knew Fíli needed without being told.

Standing in front of the open gates and flanked by a dozen uniformed guards, a group of dwarves waited, many of them familiar even from a distance. First among them and standing alone was a tall, straight-backed figure that the two princes had not seen in over seven years. The dwarrowdam was dressed richly, her dark hair and beard just touched with frost, but despite her formal posture, she gasped audibly as they came into view. Forgetting nerves and propriety for the moment, Fíli and Kíli all but fell from their ponies and hurried to their mother in a mad rush of hugs and tears.

“Oh, my dear, beautiful boys,” Dís sobbed when she could draw breath enough to speak, “thank Mahal you are finally, _finally_ here where you belong. I feared this day would never come.” She kissed them both on the brow before pushing them to arm’s length, a hand on each son’s shoulder. “How well you both look, so strong and grown up! I hardly recognize you as the lads I sent on the quest to Erebor.”

She frowned, “I’m still angry with you both for keeping what Thorin was doing from me.” Fíli paled and looked down while Kíli started to speak only to be hushed by Dis. “But…I do understand why you did it. Just don’t do it again,” she said severely. “Nothing is more important to me than your health and happiness.”

She smiled softly, an arm around each son, “Come, there are many impatient to see you.” Dís led them to where the Company had gathered for a long-awaited and joyous reunion. Ori and Bofur surged to the fore to be engulfed in enthusiastic hugs by the returning princes. The others followed closely behind, and many happy tears were shed by all involved. Kíli was surprised to see Bard and his children standing nearby and made a special point of including him.

“Bard!” the brunet exclaimed brightly, startling the man with a hard embrace. “It warms my heart to see you again. Fíli and I could not have asked for a better friend through our hardships.”

“I did little enough,” Bard laughed. “And seldom has a good deed been so well repaid!” His voice fell, “Your brother looks well and strong. Seeing him on the throne of Erebor will amend many of the ills of the past few years.”

Kíli nodded, “That is why we have returned, and he will be the next King of Erebor if I have anything to do with it!”

Meanwhile, Fíli introduced Ecthelion to the Company and readily agreed to his mother’s suggestion that the travelers should be given an opportunity to rest and refresh themselves. However, as they approached the gate, the blond was startled by the sound of a soft voice filled with barely concealed contempt.

“A touching reunion for the highly fortuitous return of the missing heirs; one might even think that the mysterious disappearance was not so mysterious after all.” He turned to see the speaker; a tall richly-dressed dwarf standing nearby.

Fíli inclined his head warily, “Cousin Dáin.”

“But of course,” Dáin added, “as we all know merely being the heir is no assurance of fitness to be the _king_.”

“Indeed, well I know that,” Fíli responded mildly. But before he could continue he felt a presence at his side.

“Yes, these days it seems they’ll name just about anyone an heir,” Kíli said darkly with a pointed look at his cousin. “I think you’ll find that Fíli is more than fit to rule, cousin.”

Dáin snorted, “That remains to be seen.”

Kíli scowled at the older dwarf, but before he could speak, another, younger dwarf pushed his way between the two of them. Glaring at Kili, he growled, “You think your brother can just slink back here after five years’ absence and claim the throne? I…”

“Thorin!” Dáin snapped. “That’s enough!”

A tall shadow loomed over them. “Now’s not the time for that, Stonehelm,” Dwalin said firmly, taking Thorin’s arm and pulling him away from Kíli. “The people of Erebor are waiting to greet them.”

“The people of Erebor?” Fíli asked, paling slightly.

“Aye.” Dwalin smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not every day that two lost sons of Durin come home. It’s something to celebrate.”

Fíli glanced to the doors of Erebor looming ahead and threw his shoulders back resolutely. Kíli stepped up next to his brother and whispered, “Together, right, Fee?”

The blond shot him a grateful look and briefly squeezed his brother’s hand before motioning for the doors to be opened. As they passed through the doors together they were greeted by an explosion of noise from the dwarves lining both sides of the main entrance hall. Cheers and cries of “Prince Fíli!” and “Prince Kíli!” filled the air; Fíli responded by smiling and waving while Kíli beamed enthusiastically, taking a moment to murmur, “See? I _told_ you they’d be happy to have you back, Fee.” What made the experience even more gratifying for the brunet was when he looked back to see the sour expressions on the faces of Dáin and Thorin.

Once they had left the entrance hall, Dís approached them and put an arm around each of her sons. “We thought a quiet dinner with the Company would be welcome tonight; tomorrow there will be a meeting of the Regent’s Council and other formal events.”

“That sounds wonderful, Mum,” Fíli smiled. “Is there someplace we can freshen up and rest before then?” He glanced over to where Ecthelion was chatting animatedly with Balin. “We should find rooms for Lord Ecthelion and his men as well.”

“That’s already taken care of,” Dís assured him briskly. “Dwalin told us to expect them in his first message. But I wanted to speak to you both about your accommodations.” She paused for moment before continuing, “We felt that it would be…premature to give you the King’s suite, and I doubted you’d want it anyway.”

“Mahal, no,” Fíli said earnestly.

“After Dáin and his son were named Thorin’s heirs, they moved into your rooms.” She smiled apologetically at Kíli’s scowl, “I’m sorry, there was no reason to refuse them since you had been declared dead. But I did store all the belongings you left behind. Now I know you two would be happy to share a room, and since it would cause less discord to ask young Thorin to move than his father, we have prepared Kíli’s old room for you both. I hope that’s satisfactory.”

Fíli smiled and kissed her cheek, “That’s perfect, Mum. I have nothing but good memories of being there with Kíli.”

“Besides, that’s one in the eye for that _febel_ Stonehelm,” Kíli chortled. “No wonder he was in such a foul mood.”

-ooo-

Dinner that evening was a happy affair, attended only by Thorin’s old Company, Dís, and by special invitation, Lord Ecthelion as well. Ever-inquisitive Ori eagerly sought out the tall Gondorian, peppering him with questions about Gondor and the southern lands in general. Led by Bofur, the other Company members recounted some of the more amusing tales from their travels—Kíli enduring with a groan the retelling of his mistaking an elf for an elf maid. By unspoken agreement nothing was said of the last few years in Erebor, acknowledging the absent member of their Company and wishing to remember him before he was taken by darkness.

After the meal they adjourned to more comfortable surroundings and the reunion continued with mead and ale flowing freely. When Fíli found himself sitting next to Ori he finally felt enough at ease to broach the subject of the more recent past. “What was it like here, Ori,” he asked quietly, “in the years after we left?”

The scribe looked thoughtful for a moment before replying, “Tense. Especially right after you and Kíli disappeared. Of course, everyone in the Company guessed what had happened, and I’m sure some knew for certain,” he added wryly. “But suspicion never fell too heavily on us, which I think was in part Dwalin’s doing.”

He smiled wistfully at Fíli, “It was a bit lonely as well after you two left. I think you know Gloin decided not to bring his family to the Mountain while Thorin was so…unstable, so without Gimli I sorely missed our old gang.” He sighed, “Dori and Nori tried to convince me to leave, afraid I might draw Thorin’s attention next. But I didn’t want to leave. I love my work and my home is here now, with my brothers and the Company.”

“I am so sorry that we— _I_ —brought this all down on you, Ori,” Fíli murmured sadly. “Maybe I should have held out longer,” he shook his head, “but Kíli was frantic to get me away.”

“Of course he was!” Ori said tartly. “Don’t you dare apologize, Fíli; we were all happy and relieved when we learned you had disappeared. None of us wanted to see you suffer any longer.” He smiled and laid a hand on Fíli’s, “I kept my head down, did my work, and see; I’m fine. Everything worked out for the best. Gimli and his mother will be arriving soon and we’ll all be together again, as it should be.”

“As it should be,” Fíli repeated, grinning though his eyes glinted with tears. “Mahal, I missed this—the Company, my friends— _you_ , Ori.”

“Welcome back, my prince,” Ori beamed.

-ooo-

When the gathering broke up for the night, Fíli quietly asked Balin and Dís to accompany the princes to their room. Once the door had been closed firmly behind them, he turned to the two older dwarves, “Tonight was a wonderful gift, and I can’t thank you enough for it. But I know the hard work starts tomorrow. What can we expect?”

Balin and Dís exchanged a glance before the old counselor spoke. “The first order of business is a meeting of the Regent’s Council; you two must present yourselves so that your identities and your claim to the throne can be verified. Since your lady mother,” he bowed briefly in Dís’ direction, “had the foresight to pass a proclamation declaring you two have precedence over Dáin as heirs, it _should_ be merely a formality.”

“But…” Fíli prompted.

“Dáin is on the Council,” Dis explained, “and as such he can argue that Fíli should not be accepted as next in line for the throne. He would be foolish to suggest that you two are not who you say you are, so I suspect that he will try to have you declared unfit.”

“He as much as said he would when we first arrived,” Kíli declared hotly. “Did you hear him?"

“I heard enough,” Balin sighed. “If it comes to an outright vote, I think we would prevail, but of course I would prefer not to risk it.” He met Fíli’s eyes, “I could, however, give him a gentle reminder that there are questions about his past behavior that he might find uncomfortable to answer. Specifically, how he was able to provide ‘evidence’ of your deaths when you are both quite obviously still alive. The offer of a substantial payment of gold to thank him for his past services might be beneficial as well.”

“You want us to _bribe_ him?” Kíli asked, outraged.

Fíli gave Balin an appraising look, “If we do this, will he _stay_ bribed? I would not have him think he can return to cause trouble and extract more gold from us.”

The old dwarf shrugged, “I can make certain he understands it is a one-time offer only. He is gold-mad, but not much of a gambler in my judgment. If he demands a vote and loses, he will have lost the throne and the gold as well.”

The blond prince nodded slowly, “Do it.”

“Fili!” his brother exclaimed, dismay coloring his voice.

Fíli clasped his brother’s arm, “Kíli, it sits ill with me as well. But Erebor’s riches have brought our family nothing but misery, and likewise it would not be good for the kingdom to have a prolonged dispute over the succession. If mere gold can settle this quickly, I count it a bargain.”

Kíli scowled, but finally nodded his agreement, “Very well, _nadad,_ we’ll do it your way. But what of Stonehelm? He does not seem the type to give up so easily!”

Dís narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, “Dáin can bring him to heel if necessary, but you are right, he _is_ hotheaded. It is not impossible that he would try something on his own.” She caught Balin’s eyes, “Perhaps we should have him watched.”

Balin snorted, “I’m sure my brother has taken care of that already, but a little extra scrutiny would not go amiss. I will mention it to him.”

He smiled, “Now I’m sure you lads are both tired, so we’ll you get some rest. I’ll send someone to wake you in plenty of time for the meeting.”

Dís pulled her sons into her arms, clutching them fiercely, “Goodnight, my sweet boys, until tomorrow. It is so _good_ to have you back.”

After the brothers had bid Dís and Balin goodnight, they wasted no time in undressing and claiming the wide, comfortable bed as their own. Kíli rolled onto his side and entwined his fingers with Fíli’s. “We are back, _âzyungel_ ,” he whispered. “We are back, we are safe, and you will be known as the finest king Erebor has ever had.”

Fíli smiled, and reached up to tuck a lock of dark hair gently behind Kíli’s ear. “It is you who makes me believe that I can do this; with you at my side as my consort I could be the king Erebor needs. You give me purpose, _sannadad_ , and the strength to go on when I am tempted to despair.”

He turned suddenly, pinning Kíli beneath him on the bed. Fíli leaned close, their breaths mingling while the brunet watched him avidly, his eyes dark. “Would you like me to demonstrate how grateful I am…how much you mean to me, _atamanel_?”

Kíli’s lips curved into a smile and one hand found its way to the back of his brother’s neck. “Show me,” he breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul translations
> 
> atamanel = breath of all breaths  
> âzyungel = love of loves  
> febel = piece of rubbish  
> nadad = brother  
> sannadad = brother of all brothers


	7. A Ring of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers face the Regent's Council, and Fili's claim to the throne is challenged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my apologies for the extremely long wait. If it's any consolation, I do know for certain that the next chapter will be the last one.

The princes were awoken early by a decisive knock on the door. “Fíli, Kíli, time to get up!” they heard their mother call.

Fíli groaned and disentangled himself from his brother, who protested the sudden loss of warmth. “Aww, Fee, don’t leave yet!”

“Boys, I’m coming in with your clothes for the meeting, get yourselves decent!” Dís said firmly.

“C’mon, Kee, get up! You know she will come in anyway,” Fíli said, nudging his brother.

Kíli finally stirred and pushed aside the covers reluctantly, all the while muttering about ‘grown dwarves’ and ‘princes, for Mahal’s sake!’

The blond snorted, “Like she cares about that!” They hurriedly donned their smallclothes and Dís bustled in, a bundle of clothing in her arms. The previous evening she had insisted that they take time to try on some new finery she had commissioned after learning they were returning. The sizes were based on clothes they had left behind when they fled, and although Kíli’s garments had only needed minor alteration, Fíli’s were much more of a problem. The muscle he had gained during their absence from Erebor meant that his tunic was far too tight across the arms and shoulders, and the tailor promised to do what he could to adjust it

After the princes had dressed, their mother eyed them critically. “Well, Fili,” she said finally, “your tunic is still a bit too tight, but here’s only so much that could be done without starting over. Otherwise, you two look wonderful.”

And they did; both in fine velvet tunics with their personal sigils worked into the collar and cuffs, and that of the line of Durin over their hearts. Fíli’s tunic was deep gold with trim of Durin blue, and Kíli’s the same color scheme in reverse.

Kíli sidled up to brother with a grin, squeezing a bicep appreciatively. “You look so handsome, _nadad_ , and regal. No one will question that you should be king.”

Fíli huffed out a laugh and slid a hand to the back of his brother’s neck, pulling him close so their foreheads touched. “You as well, _sannadad_. I could not do this without you.”

Dís watched them with misty eyes, “Of course you could, but you won’t have to. You both look like the fine, noble dwarves I have always known you to be. Now come,” she said briskly, “the Council meeting begins soon and it would not do to be late.”

As they turned to leave there was a rap on the chamber door that proved to be Balin.

“All ready to go? Splendid!” he smiled as he entered.

“What should we expect from the Council, Balin? From Dáin?” Fíli asked with a touch of anxiety in his voice.

“I did speak to Dáin, the old dwarf replied, “and tendered the offer we discussed.” He smiled tightly, “Your cousin does not like the way the wind is blowing, especially after you two were greeted so warmly at the gate yesterday. He did not come out and say so directly, but I believe he will not challenge you at today’s meeting.”

Kíli grinned and clapped his brother on the back, “See? I told you it would work out!”

The blond blew out a long breath in relief. “That…that is good. I know if am to become king I will still have to work with Dáin at times, as he is still Lord of the Iron Hills. I would prefer to start with as little enmity as possible.”

The four of them walked to the meeting room, with the two older dwarves entering while Fíli and Kíli waited outside until they were called. It was a nervous few minutes for the princes until finally the Balin opened the doors and invited them inside.

“And here they are, Fíli and Kíli, sons of Dís and sister-sons and heirs to Thorin Oakenshield,” the white-haired dwarf declared to the assemblage as they passed into the room.

The young dwarves scanned the room; Thorin’s company was well represented on the Council. Besides Balin and their mother, Dwalin, Gloin, Dori and Bofur were also present and smiled encouragingly at them. Dáin was in attendance as well, though his grim and unsmiling demeanor was in marked contrast to that of their friends. Thorin Stonehelm was standing behind his father and looked even less pleased to see them; his face red with ill-concealed anger.

Fíli was shown to a seat and Kíli positioned himself behind his brother, mirroring Dáin and Thorin. Before Balin or Dís could speak a red-haired dwarf that the princes could not identify said testily, “I suppose there’s no doubt about their identity.”

Balin gave the skeptical dwarf a withering look. “Even if you were to discount the evidence of _their own mother_ , several of us present have known the princes since birth, myself included. There is no doubt.”

“But where…” another dwarf began.

“As I was just going to say,” Balin interrupted, “Prince Fíli and Prince Kíli have been residing in Gondor, for the last five years.” He held up a closely written parchment adorned by an ornate seal. “Here is a statement from Turgon, the Lord Steward Gondor, stating that the princes have been living in Minas Tirith with his knowledge and consent. He goes on to say that they proved themselves to be fine craftsmen, honest tradesmen, and good citizens while residents of his realm, earning their keep as a blacksmith and a woodworker. Lord Ecthelion, Lord Turgon’s son and heir, is currently in Erebor and would be willing to personally testify on this matter if requested.”

A ripple of conversation passed through the room, and several of the council members exchanged uneasy glances. Kíli smiled grimly to himself; as uncomfortable as some were with the idea of trusting the word of a Man, they knew better than to openly question the ruler of a powerful realm like Gondor.

One of the councilors—an Iron Hills dwarf by the look of him—muttered, “ _Tradesmen_ , really? I would expect more of princes and sons of Durin.”

Fíli felt his brother stiffen behind him; he reached over and gently squeezed his hand in warning, hoping to forestall an intemperate response.

Although he had not spoken since they entered, now Fíli met the dwarf’s eyes and pitched his voice to carry, “If I may, sir? Prince I may be, but the exiles of Erebor know that a lofty title does not guarantee a life of ease. I learned my trade from Thorin Oakenshield, who labored for long years in the towns of Men to feed and clothe his family and his people. He saw no dishonor in earning a living through honest trade, nor do we.” After a moment he added coolly, “Perhaps you were taught differently.”

Bofur slapped the table and grinned at the blond, “Well spoken, Fíli! King or commoner, any dwarf worth his salt should be willing to get his hands dirty.”

The dwarf who had questioned them reddened and fell silent.

Balin cleared his throat, “As you may recall, upon King Thorin’s death this council passed a resolution stating that Prince Fíli, and after him, Prince Kíli, were next in line for the throne. Their identities have been established, as have their whereabouts for the last five years. Unless anyone has something else to add, I will ask Lady Dís as Regent to declare that their claim as heirs to Thorin Oakenshield be accepted.”

The room was still for a moment, several of the council members stirring uneasily and casting sidelong glances at Dáin. The stipulation that Fíli and Kíli must be _fit_ to claim the throne had yet to be addressed and it was clear that Balin had no intention of bringing it up. As the one with the most to lose if Fíli or Kíli became king, all expected the dwarf lord to be the one to raise objections first and foremost.

But Dáin did not object; rather he sat motionless, his face set and grim, and Kíli saw some of the tension begin to leave his brother’s shoulders. The same could not be said of Dáin’s son; Thorin’s face darkened and his agitation grew and seconds dragged on in silence.

“Father, will you not speak? Will no one speak?” he finally sputtered. “You would let these so-called princes claim the throne unchallenged?"

“Thorin, be silent!” Dáin said warningly.

“I will not be silent! You would let them slither back after five years and take the crown that is rightly ours?” He strode around the table toward Fíli’s seat. “I say _nay_!” he spat. “I say they are weaklings and cowards who ran from their duty at the first opportunity!”

Before Fíli could stand Kíli intercepted Thorin, bristling with rage. “You will not speak to my brother in that way!” He glared at his cousin contemptuously, “Fíli is worth two of you and braver than you will ever be!”

“Then have him prove it!” Thorin growled. “If he is as brave as you say, he should be happy to meet me in the ring, where I can demonstrate how weak and unfit he truly is.”

In response Kíli offered a few choice comments in Khuzdul on the other dwarf’s lineage and sexual proclivities, but fortunately Dwalin stepped between them before it could come to blows.

“Silence!” Dís’ strong voice cut through tumult. Kíli was still seething with anger, but he subsided, as did the others in the room.

The brunet felt a warm hand on his arm, and Fíli levered himself to his feet. “Thank you, _Amad_ ,” the blond murmured. Kíli glanced over at his brother, standing calmly at his side. He was noticeably shorter than the three dwarves surrounding him, but to Kíli’s eyes he looked composed, resolute…and kingly. He turned to face his angry cousin and said simply, “I accept your challenge, Thorin.”

“Fíli!” Kíli hissed. “You don’t have to do this!”

“I know, _atamanel_ ,” the blond replied quietly, squeezing his brother’s arm affectionately. “But it will settle matters quickly one way or another, and I think that is a good thing.”

“Very well,” Kíli huffed uncertainly. “Let me get your swords.” As tradition dictated their weapons had been left outside the council chamber. Probably fortuitous, the younger prince reflected, since otherwise he would have been very tempted to draw steel on his arrogant bastard of a cousin.

Balin sighed resignedly to his brother as Kíli left the room, “Well then, if that is how it is to be, then we must find a place for the challenge.” His face brightened, “And I think I know just the place.”

-ooo-

Ori had just finished explaining to an astonished Ecthelion how the floor of the Great Hall had come to be _covered in solid gold_ when a clamor of voices drew their attention. A large group of dwarves was approaching their location from a side corridor, including a number of familiar faces.

Noting the presence of his three traveling companions, Ecthelion asked, “Weren’t Fíli and Kíli meeting with the Regent’s Council this morning?”

“Yes,” Ori replied, his eyes wide, “and what’s more, that _is_ the Regent’s Council!”

“Do you know…?” the Gondorian began.

“No, but I mean to find out!” the scribe exclaimed as he dashed toward the group and pulled his brother Dori aside for a rapid conversation.

He returned a short while later, breathless and excited, and the group moved on toward its mysterious destination. “Dáin’s son Thorin has challenged Fíli to a duel!” Ori explained. “He was angry that no one—including his father—questioned Fíli’s fitness for the throne so he called him a weakling and a coward!”

Ecthelion’s eyebrow’s climbed toward his hairline, “Does this sort of thing happen often when questions of succession arise?”

The young dwarf shook his head solemnly, “The histories have mentioned it from time to him, but I don’t think it’s happened for hundreds of years.”

The Gondorian noted that the initial group had grown significantly, gathering interested bystanders as they passed through the halls. “Do you think we could…?”

“Mahal yes!” Ori grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As they hurried after the retreating dwarves—a feat much easier for the long-legged Gondorian and his guards than for Ori—the scribe remarked hesitantly, “Fíli’s _good_ , you know. A good fighter. In case you were wondering.”

Ecthelion chuckled, “And well I know it! Remember, I travelled with him for several months—I can assure you he is much more than ‘good’. Dwalin was the only one among us who could match him on anything approaching a regular basis.” The Gondorian frowned, “What do you know of this Thorin’s fighting ability?”

The scholar shrugged, “I’m sure he’s been trained as a warrior, he’s Dáin’s son, after all. Dwalin would know for certain.”

When they reached the chamber that Balin had selected for the challenge bout the princes gazed around curiously. It was a large dome-roofed chamber set high in the mountain, as demonstrated by the natural light shining in through small windows on one side. Stone seats were carved into the walls surrounding a large open area which was clearly designed as a fighting ring and delineated by a thin metal strip inset in the floor.

Kíli’s eyes widened, “Fee, have you been here before? I swear the ring boundary is made of _mithril_.”

The blond shook his head, “This is new to me as well. But it must be old—very old—to have used mithril in such quantity. He flexed his shoulders, loosening them for the bout to come, and grimaced when the tunic pulled across the back. “I can’t fight in this. Help me take it off, _nadadith_.”

Between the two of them the tunic was soon removed, though some of the seams were sacrificed as a result. When they were done, Fili was clad only in his breeches and a thin linen undertunic purchased in Gondor for comfort during the long hot summers.

Even considering the gravity of the situation, Kíli couldn’t completely suppress a smile of appreciation when regarding his brother; the shirt set off Fíli’s strong arms and shoulders very nicely.

He slid a hand around Fíli’s neck and pulled him close until their foreheads touched, whispering, “You look so handsome, _nadad_.”

Fíli snorted in amusement, “I doubt Thorin will find me so, Kíli.”

The brunet made a dismissive noise. “Then he has no taste.” His expression softened, “You will be careful, won’t you, Fee? I know he’s no match for your skill, but even a _febel_ like him can get lucky. And I wouldn’t put it past him to ‘accidentally’ stab you in the gut.”

“Kíli, no! Thorin may be hotheaded, but he’s not dishonorable. He’ll abide by the rules of the duel.” Kíli gazed at him doubtfully, clearly unconvinced, so Fíli added, “But I will be cautious, _atamanel_.”

Meanwhile, Ori and Ecthelion had made their way to Dwalin and the scribe pulled on his arm to get his attention. “Dwalin, what can you tell us about Thorin? Will Fíli have any trouble defeating him?”

The bald dwarf nodded to the Gondorian in greeting before replying, “Stonehelm? He’s like a bad ale—all foam and no body.” They glanced over to where the combatants were readying themselves. “Aye, he’ll taller, and heavier, but Lord Ecthelion here will attest to the fact that doesn’t always make for sure victory.” Ecthelion snorted in rueful agreement before Dwalin continued, “Stonehelm doesn’t have a tithe of Fíli’s skill and discipline. He’s no match for our lad.”

At that moment Balin asked for everyone’s attention and explained the rules of the challenge: Fíli and Thorin would spar until one fighter either yielded or was forced out of the ring. They nodded their acceptance and the dark-haired dwarf stepped into the ring. Immediately the mithril circle lit with a soft silver glow chasing its way around the ring to the surprised gasps of the onlookers.

Ecthelion’s eyes widened in surprise, “How…”

Ori shook his head, looking as startled as the rest, “I don’t know how such things were done, and there may be none alive now who do. Our ancestors were capable of creating wonders, especially with mithril, but most of those secrets were lost.”

The Gondorian nodded, “It is much the same for my people; many skills and secrets of the Númenóreans vanished long ago.”

They watched together as Fíli stepped into the ring, head held high. And although after the previous display it was not surprising there was _some_ reaction to his presence, the response was nothing short of astonishing. The moment he crossed the mithril circle a bell-like tone sounded, reverberating through the chamber, coming from nowhere and everywhere. At the same moment the ring flared briefly again, and unlike the dim light that met Thorin, now it was bright enough to be temporarily blinding. But most surprising of all, a string of carved Khuzdul runes appeared around the perimeter of the room, limned in light.

There was a moment of stunned silence before the assembled dwarves erupted in a chorus of gasps and cries of shock, excitement and wonder. Ecthelion glanced over at Fíli; the blond prince cast his gaze down briefly and took a long, shuddering breath to ground himself before meeting his brother’s eyes. The expression on Kíli’s face was… _jubilant_ , and the look the brothers exchanged so full of trust and adoration that it was like staring too long at the sun.

“Mahal, _yes_!” Dwalin cried under his breath.

“This is a good thing, I take it?” Ecthelion murmured.

“Oh yes!” Ori replied, his eyes shining. “It…it sounds more dramatic in Khuzdul, but the runes…” He shook his head, “The closest translation I can give you is _‘Where a true son of Durin treads, the mountain will rejoice.’_ ”

The Gondorian’s breath caught—the runes had appeared for Fíli but had most decidedly _not_ for his cousin Thorin.

“The mountain has chosen its King,” Dwalin added, awe and satisfaction coloring his tone in equal parts.

An angry voice caught their attention; evidently not everyone was pleased with this development. Dáin’s face was thunderous as he confronted Balin. “You knew of this!” he growled. “You arranged this to humiliate my son!”

The old dwarf met his eyes calmly, not at all intimidated. “Lord Dáin, how was I to know that your son would challenge Prince Fíli to a duel? In addition, this chamber was blocked by debris until a few months ago and Fíli has never set foot in it until today. I could not anticipate how it would react to his presence.” He gave Dáin a piercing look, “But in light of these circumstances perhaps your son would like to withdraw his challenge?”

“This changes nothing!” Thorin replied roughly, his face contorted in anger.

Balin glanced at Fíli, who nodded. “Very well, then, we will proceed.”

While the duelists readied themselves, Dwalin explained the rules of dwarven challenge matches to the Gondorian. Blows designed to kill or main were forbidden, he explained, the skill lay in the ability to defeat an opponent without serious injury. “Of course,” the big dwarf added wryly, “it’s not unheard of that such things happen by accident or intentionally if someone decides that eliminating an enemy is worth sacrificing an honorable victory.”

“Indeed? Do you think Thorin Stonehelm is of that mind?”

Dwalin shrugged. “He’s surely realized that after that display,” he nodded in the direction of the glowing runes, “The lad’s death or defeat is the only thing that could prevent Fíli from taking the throne.”

While they were speaking Balin was giving final instructions to Fíli and Thorin. The dark-haired dwarf had his weapon at the ready, a large, two-handed battle axe, facing Fíli with his familiar twin swords. Ecthelion snorted in surprise; the axe was a dangerous weapon in the right hands, but it was slow—a far from ideal choice against an agile opponent like Fíli.

He glanced sidelong at Dwalin. “Interesting choice of weapon. I don’t think it will give him an advantage against Fíli, unless he is much faster than he looks.”

The bald dwarf grunted, “He’s not. But he _is_ an arrogant fool.”

At that moment Balin signaled for the battle to begin, and Thorin charged across the ring toward the blond, axe held high. Fíli easily dodged the blow with a spin step that left the bigger dwarf reeling.

The Gondorian shook his head; that Stonehelm was trying to overpower the prince was hardly a surprise due to his greater size and reach, but he knew from experience that it was a tactic doomed to fail.

The bout continued, with the dark-haired dwarf constantly on the attack but getting no closer to landing a blow due to Fíli’s superior skill and speed—the strokes that were not blocked were simply evaded. But Ecthelion noted something else; the blond was not taking advantage of openings that Thorin gave him. Already there had been several occasions when Fíli could have disarmed his opponent but had not, and the Gondorian was certain they had not simply been overlooked.

He glanced at the bald dwarf next to him, “Fíli is holding back.”

Dwalin grunted, “Aye. Probably because he doesn’t want to humiliate the bastard by winning too quickly.” He sighed, “I understand why he feels he should do it, but it would set my mind at ease if he’d just finish the damn thing before he gets hurt.”

Inevitably, Thorin began to get frustrated by the failure of his strategy and changed tactics. Rather than attempting to land a blow to knock Fíli down or disarm him, he tried to force the blond out of ring, an approach that proved equally unsuccessful against as experienced an adversary as Fíli.

The dark-haired dwarf seemed to be tiring; the constant attacks against his smaller, more agile opponent taking their toll. As his strokes slowed he resorted to yet another tactic—taunting Fíli in Khuzdul. The blond resolutely ignored his jibes, until at last Thorin shouted something that made Fíli freeze for a moment, his face gone hard and cold with a fierce light in his eyes.

Dwalin swore under his breath, “Mahal, the fool is going to regret having said that!”

“What _did_ he say?” the Gondorian asked quietly.

The bald dwarf huffed, “He called Kíli an elf-spawn bastard, therefore insulting both Kíli and the Lady Dís.” He shook his head, “Fíli’s heard that before; when they were younger the other dwarflings would sometimes tease Kíli because of his looks and his love for the bow. But I can guarantee that none said it more than once when his older brother was through with them.”

In the ring, Fíli was clearly done holding back. Eyes ablaze, he advanced on Thorin, braids dancing, his blades a blur of motion. The dark-haired dwarf uttered what sounded like an oath in Khuzdul and stepped back, and back again desperately trying to avoid the whirling blades. He was visibly slowing now, his breath harsh, a fierce grip on the axe handle the only thing preventing him from being disarmed.

Fíli was relentless, and although Thorin was either unaware of it or powerless to stop it, the prince was steadily maneuvering him toward the mithril ring boundary. The end came swiftly; the blond feinted, seeming to drop his guard, and Thorin was deceived by the hope he might still salvage the situation. The larger dwarf lunged forward, only to be caught off balance when his opponent was not where he expected him to be. Fíli’s left sword slashed the air in front of him and he panicked, twisting to avoid the blade. But he was not the intended target, as became clear when the blond caught the axe haft on the hook of his sword. Down came the right blade in a fierce blow, cracking the axe handle. The weight of the axe blade did the rest—the blade broke clean away and dropped to the stone of the ring with a clang. Simultaneously Thorin fell heavily across the mithril ring boundary, its light blinking out.

The crowd roared its approval and surged into the ring with Kíli first among them. He caught his brother around the waist and lifted him in triumph, laughing joyously, while the other members of the Company gathered around. But their celebration was interrupted by a shout of rage and a string of Khuzdul curses—Thorin was on his feet again, advancing toward Fíli, a menacing look on his face. Kíli surged forward, planting himself between his cousin and his brother, their friends ranged beside him in support.

Just when it looked like blows might be exchanged a voice rose above the clamor, “Enough!”

Dáin Ironfoot shouldered his way through the crowd, roughly pushing aside those who did not yield. The gathered dwarves held their breaths, wondering whether his presence would escalate hostilities. But he addressed his son, eyes hard, “You!” he growled. “You have shamed me enough this day. Come!”

“But my lord!” Thorin protested.

“You will come, now!” Dáin turned to leave and a seething Thorin fell in behind him. As he passed the two brothers he gave them a stiff bow. “Prince Fíli, Prince Kíli, if you will excuse us.”

Fíli nodded, “My Lord Dáin.”

Silence followed the departure of the Iron Hills lords until Glóin clapped his hands gleefully and announced, “Well then, it seems we have a coronation to plan!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, my personal headcanon is that Balin knew about the runes (they were carved in the walls but hard to see when not alight) and took a leap of faith that they might respond to Fili's presence.
> 
> Khuzdul translations:
> 
> atamanel = breath of all breaths  
> febel = piece of trash  
> nadad = brother  
> nadadith = younger brother  
> sannadad = most perfect brother


End file.
